


you were a kindness (when i was a stranger)

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (in the form of punching shit), (the valkyrie), 2011 steve rogers, Artist Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Comfort Food, Communication, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Food Issues, Goats, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reunions, Self-Harm, Skinny Dipping, Steve Rogers Gets a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Time Travel, Top Bucky Barnes, Touch-Starved, Wakanda (Marvel), Wakandan Technology (Marvel), White Wolf Bucky Barnes, for a singular scene, its a very minor mention but just to be safe, kind of, on one occasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:01:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: There’s a flash of white and then somehow, a circle that glows gold expanding around its center, where as Bucky watches in fascination, a man that looks almost exactly like the Steve Bucky lost sight of back in the Alps stumbles out and collapses on the ground in a heap.(alternatively: the fic where avengers 2012 steve somehow winds up in wakanda)
Relationships: Aneka/Ayo (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 98
Kudos: 132





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> this fic started off as a daydream but then i got so mad steve never got any emphasis on his trauma that for once i have decided to write a chaptered fic. chapters will be around 10k a piece and will be posted fairly close together as i want to finish this by the time tfatws hits. happy reading!

Steve Rogers has had a rough year, and that’s saying something for someone who has already lived a pretty rough life as a whole- grown up dirt poor in the Great Depression, fought in the second World War, then died before he ever saw it won. Or, he guesses _died_ isn’t the proper word. Been lost maybe. 

To what? He’d have to guess again on that one. Time is the obvious answer, but it’s more complicated than that. Sometimes he thinks he’s lost to himself as well, at least as a person. In this new century (and maybe even before that) he’s definitely painfully out of place.

Then again, in this new century, he doesn’t quite yet have a good grip on what their version of the word _proper_ means either. Everything is so different. Steve knows he’s different too, but while his mind- or his memories, at least- seems to be stuck in the past, everything else has him sped up and thrown headfirst into the future where he’s landed upside down and _still_ doesn’t know which way is rightside up. 

He’s no stranger to sudden changes by any means, but at least with the serum, when he’d stepped in that chamber he knew he had people on the other side waiting for him were he able to make it out. Even if he didn’t, he knew his Ma would be waiting for him if things went down south or in the opposite direction. 

He’d thought when he crashed the Valkyrie that he was setting himself up for something similar to that second situation, albeit with someone different that was supposed to be waiting. He wasn’t expecting to make it out, bombs on board aside. That crash was supposed to seal his fate, but apparently he’s such a fuck up that he wasn’t able to finish that job right either. He picked a fight he finally wanted to lose, but somehow someone managed to step in even sixty something years too late and tug him out into a world he isn’t supposed to be in. A world he doesn’t _want_ to be in. 

The only person he’d formerly been used to helping him out when he was in over his head was Bucky. There’s something bitter inside Steve that still hasn’t settled about Fury being the one to take that job even now, six decades after the position lost the man who was always at its post. 

But Steve tries not to think of that now, hopefully never again. He tries not to think of a lot of things, but the noise in his head doesn’t fall easily quiet. The only way to shut it out seems to shut himself _down_. Drown out the noise like the water drowned him before and let the cold of it die down until the numbness takes over. 

He tries not to think of his mother and how he’s not even sure if her grave is left standing, let alone kept in a condition he’d want to see. He hopes that maybe, Mrs. Barnes had left her flowers when Steve was overseas. He hopes that someone had been there to visit her grave even after he was gone, because he can’t bring himself to go about doing that himself now. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He wishes hers was next to his own. 

He tries not to think about the rest of the Howlies and how he’d never gotten to say goodbye or tell them that they were the closest thing to brothers he’d ever had. He had never gotten to see how their lives and families had grown, and maybe he could go see those families now, but he doubts they’d want to see a stranger. They must have grown up with legends and stories of Cap- and in comparison, Steve Rogers is not a catch. Especially not with how he’s been lately. 

He tries not to think about Peggy and how people have somehow gotten so caught up in the tales of what they _could_ have or _should_ have had that they can no longer see that she and him hadn’t really had anything at all. They’d been in a warzone, seeing each other only a few times every other month. Steve had been busier trying to keep people _alive_ than he had been trying to find a wife. He wasn’t looking, not back then- again, most likely not ever. Why should he want a wife when he had the love of his life sleeping not six feet beside him on every mission?

So what if Bucky wasn’t a woman? They were in a war. That was no place for them to start plans of maybe getting married or what that would mean for men like them. Why worry about what the future might hold when they were merely trying to make sure they _had_ a future in the first place?

It’s cruel that Steve would wake up in that future without Bucky by his side. 

Steve also tries not to think of Bucky now. Especially never, ever late at night when he’s by himself in his too big too soft bed and feels so very fucking alone, skin hurting because no one touches him anymore. Not that there’s anyone left he wants to touch him, not in the ways that matter. He tries not to think of him, but that only works until it doesn’t. Until not thinking of Bucky or the others makes it feel like they’d not existed and Steve had never once been loved at all.

He had been loved once, had been held. But no one is here to do those things now, and that hurts almost as much as the ache inside that Steve still feels for home. Waking up, he’d had no one _real_ to turn to for help. No one to run to. No place to go. 

He thinks sometimes that he hasn’t stopped running since Fury and those SHIELD agents chased him out into Times Square. Maybe that’s why he’s so tired, but what Steve feels isn’t as superficial as being out of breath. Steve feels goddamn exhausted all the way down to the bone. He’d slept for so long, but when he closed his eyes, it was supposed to be for forever. It was supposed to be for good. 

There’s nothing _good_ about where Steve is now. 

_Now_ is six weeks after he’d been woken up. It hasn’t been that long, but then again, Steve has always hated having to wait. Though he doesn’t really know what he’s waiting for now. He knows what he wants. But he also knows he’s never going to get it again. 

SHIELD had kept him at their facility for five days after the incident with the set and Steve bolting his way right out into traffic, getting introduced to this world in maybe the worst possible way. In his defense, they shouldn’t have lied to him like that. He knows they all know it, but they aren’t _anything_ let alone saying _sorry,_ so the anger about that is just another thing Steve decides to bottle up and not talk about. 

That first week is spent with SHIELD doctors monitoring him and making sure his time in the ice isn’t going to cause him to keel over or shut down from the shock. Whether that’s supposed to mean medically or mentally, Steve doesn’t know. He doesn’t ask, because he doubts he _wants_ to know (and also doubts they’d tell him anyways). 

Even if the answer is more the first option than the second, Steve knows it’s probably still part of why they start out treating him like a child, or some kind of caged animal. He’s not explicitly told he’s not allowed out, but he knows he isn’t. He’s so shaken up and unstable that he doesn’t even try to fight it. Whatever fight is left was frozen with the rest of him and is apparently slower to thaw out than the rest.

Sometimes Steve still wakes up unable to feel his fingers or his toes. He shakes and gets shivery when he’s stressed. The doctors say it will come to pass, but part of Steve doesn’t want the hurt to go- it’s the only thing that keeps him human, feels like. He’s used to pain. Pain like this is the only thing familiar he seems to have left. 

He doesn’t ask questions anymore, but right after he’d woken up and dashed out the door, he’d had plenty of them. He’d been scattered and scared enough to still get defensive when Fury and the other agents approached him- _cornered_ him- in the street. They were armed, even if they tried to keep the crowd from seeing it. Steve had seen it. He’d had the hysterical urge to do something sudden and stupid just to get all the confusion to _stop,_ but Fury had walked up and introduced himself before he had the change and what ended coming out instead was a too quiet “who are you?”

Then, _where am I?_

 _Break_ what _to me?_

_How am I alive?_

That last one had come out unhappier than Steve would like to admit, especially to anyone in a white coat with a clipboard and the power to put him away at the funny farm. Maybe Steve deserves the diagnosis it takes to go there, but that’s now who people see when they look at him. They don’t see the coward Steve Rogers who committed pseudo-suicide by taking a dive down into the ice without caring enough to get out. They see Captain America. The brave, strong, _hero_ who gave his life to help take down Hydra and the Red Skull, who saved the world and went down in a fight. 

There’s truth to the latter part of it, but it’s the former that Steve still feels. It’s the first half that no one likes to see, because no one likes to see _Steve._ Sometimes, he doesn’t even like to see himself. In part, he knows he might be feeling some of that because his return is still somewhat of a secret, but he feels that way half the time doing things as simple as crossing the street or scuffing his feet on the sidewalk. He feels that way especially when he’s stuck up alone in his SHIELD provided apartment with more privacy than he’s had since 1943 and now nothing personal left to fill it. 

He spends a lot of time walking these days to try and avoid that. He never has a destination, but that’s to be expected, because he no longer has a home. He’s a nomad. A man with nothing. A man that’s on his own. He wasn’t even this alone when his mother died, because Bucky- Bucky had been there and _made_ himself Steve’s home. Maybe _nothing_ isn’t the word for what Steve is stuck with, because before… even when he had nothing, he had Bucky.

Now what does he have?

Six weeks of the new century and Steve feels just as lost as he had that day on the train. Six weeks into the new century and the loss is still sinking in. He doesn’t want it to, but there’s only so much running a man can do, and isn’t this pain what he deserves? He took the coward’s way out trying to chase Bucky into the darkness. He feels like one of the downfallen heroes he used to learn about in Art History back before the war when he was still taking classes. Punished for his crimes by being given everything he once wanted with the object of his real desires forever out of his reach.

He wanted a future once. He wanted Bucky out of the war. He wanted to be a _hero._ Looks like he fucking got it, but he wasn’t careful enough with what he wished for, and look how that’s wound up. Fate is cruel, but life is crueler. That’s a lesson Steve has now learned in full. 

Steve sighs and hunches his shoulders in to better dig his hands down into the pockets of his coat. It’s leather, like he’d been wearing when he rescued the 107th from Azzano, but impossibly nicer. Most material things apparently are nowadays, at least according to the advertisements. Steve’s not sure any of them are true, but the jacket had cost more than a month’s worth of rent would have back in the day. It damn well better be worth it no matter how much back pay Steve now has behind him. 

The coat fits comfortably, but Steve is still uncomfortable under the self scrutiny he feels himself settle under while watching everyone else mill around him on the sidewalk where he’s standing. It’s overwhelming being out during the day still sometimes, but it’s not like he has anything else to do. He’s spent enough time asleep already and he can’t sleep even at night half the time anyways. 

He’s not even sure what he’s going to do if he ever settles on where to walk, but standing in the way of everyone else definitely isn’t helping him decide. He steps to the side and leans against a building, staring against his shoes to resolutely keep from making eye contact with the man selling what appears to be phones a few feet away. He’d learned the hard way that they like to prey on people passing by in an even pushier fashion than paperboys had back in the forties. 

After the first incident of someone trying to sell him something on the street (a watch, which Steve later learned was fake) he’d started taking to turning his head away. He does that now. A trash can isn’t the best view (when did people become so casually _wasteful?_ ) but it’s better than being bombarded by a stranger. People have odd boundaries nowadays, and apparently leaving people trying to take innocent walks _be_ is not one of them, especially in New York City. 

After about another five minutes of wasting time, Steve eventually pushes off the wall he was leaning against and looks up, then around to see where he wants to go. There’s too many people around here. He wants to crawl out of his skin even more than usual. 

He chooses to go left and see where that takes him- he’s taken a different path today than he did last week, so the sights are still new even past them being so futuristic. Though when Steve sees the car across the street in what looks to be a window for some kind of dealership, he has to note that there are no flying ones like Howard had promised. 

Howard has a son now living somewhere in the city, but Steve hasn’t taken the time to find him. He’d barely known Howard, really. They were once friends, but that had passed away when he did. Steve never even got to meet his wife, so he doubts their child will care to meet him now. 

He’s probably older than Steve anyways. Everyone at SHIELD seems to think that he’s a hundred, but really Steve is stuck between waking up a hundred and still being twenty six. Bucky was twenty seven when he fell, but maybe that doesn’t matter anymore. Steve’s own twenty-seventh birthday was technically last week. 

He didn’t feel like doing much to celebrate. 

His mood isn’t much better now even if his headspace is clearer, but he settles for scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk and trying to keep up with everyone else’s pace. They’ve got places to be. Steve just doesn’t want to be by himself. 

The pace is so brisk that before he knows it, he’s having to step off to the side again just to catch his breath. It’s not hard to breathe exactly- he hasn’t had asthma since the summer of ‘43- but like he said, being out here is overwhelming sometimes in a different sort of way than he feels when he’s alone. The noise here might not be inside his head, but it can still be a lot. 

Thankfully, it only takes him a second to spot his sanctuary in the form of a diner with outdoor seating down the block. It doesn’t take much debate on whether to go sit down or not. Seeing as the options are the diner, his empty apartment, or at SHIELD with the shrinks- it’s for once a fairly easy choice that he doesn’t mind making.

He goes to the diner and takes an empty table, intentionally choosing the seat that won’t expose his back to the street. There’s no one here to watch his six, and they might not be at war any more, but old habits die hard. Apparently some _people_ don’t die at all. 

The waitress is walking over to Steve not two seconds after he sits down, and it’s so quick that he’s almost alarmed. It’s not that this woman looks like a threat, but being treated nicely isn’t something he’s exactly used to when off the job. He tries to enjoy the kindness when she asks him for his order, but can’t quite keep the awkwardness from showing on his face. He’s never been a people person, but now it’s even worse. 

Thankfully, his order isn’t too complicated. “Just a coffee, please,” he says, quiet and polite. He adds on a tentative smile at the end to mind the manners his mother taught him. 

She’s brighter than him when she speaks _and_ when she smiles. “Sugar is already set out. I’ll bring the creamer with the coffee. Will that be all?”

Steve nods, stomach turning at the mere thought of eating right now. The doctors said that’s another side effect. It’ll take time for his body to get used to being able to keep down food after being frozen for so long. That might be true, but Steve suspects the base level nausea would remain even if it wasn’t. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

She clicks the pen she’d written down his order with and slides her notepad into the pocket of her apron, turning to go back to what Steve assumes will be the kitchen. “I’ll have that out in a moment!”

Steve almost thanks her again, but she’s already gone. He’s alone again at a table for two wishing he has someone to sit on the other side of it. 

Back when he and Bucky were still together (still _able_ to be together, Steve reminds himself, because they would have never voluntarily broken apart) they wouldn’t have been able to afford eating somewhere like this even if their sort of relationship was allowed anywhere but behind closed doors and curtains shut tight. That was just how things were. Meals, when they had the money for them to begin with, were eaten in the kitchen of their apartment or from a brown paper bag when on the clock for work. 

Steve never said, but he actually sort of had a soft spot for making Bucky lunches to take down to the docks. They never were able to afford much when living together, but what little they had was always enough, and even if Steve wasn’t always the one able to provide it- he could at least serve it up. Bucky was always bad in the kitchen with anything other than making sandwiches anyways. Buttered bread and burnt coffee were his specialties. No matter how bad they tasted, Steve still made sure to eat them without (and, fine, maybe sometimes _with)_ complaint. 

He’s still dwelling on that a few minutes later when the waitress walks back up, this time with his cup of coffee and a small pitcher of creamer in both hands. She sets them down on the table and then leans back, hand on her hip while she tilts her head at him to smile again. “I’ll come around and see if you need any refills while I make my rounds, but if I miss you, just try and flag me down. I’ll get your check as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” Steve repeats, feeling suddenly fidgety from something he’s not sure of that bothers him. He clenches his hands under the table on his thighs to keep them from shaking- he needs to do something with them, but he doesn’t know what. Then, spotting what looks to be an extra pen in his server’s apron, he has an idea. “Ma’am?”

Turning back to face him from where she was about to step away, his waitress- _Debby,_ so her name tag says- looks at him, customer service smile seeming to be cemented in place. “What can I help you with?”

Steve doesn’t want to waste more of her time, so he gets right to it despite feeling the hesitance wanting to rise up inside. He pushes it back down with a swallow. “Would you mind if I used your pen for a while? I don’t have one with me and I’d like to… write some stuff down.” _Draw,_ he almost says. _Because I’m an artist despite what they’ve made of me._

He doesn’t say that. This woman is a stranger and so is he. He doubts she would understand. Really, neither does he. 

Regardless of whether she sees anything odd on his face or not, she nods and hands it to him. “You can keep it if you want,” she tells him, this time turning and staying that way. “We always have a million lying around.” 

Steve thanks her a third time and waits until she’s walked back into the building to bring his hands up to the table. They’re still shaking, but only slightly. He closes the left one around his coffee cup and uses his right to pick up the pen. That seems to stabilize them some, and by the time he has the cap flicked off the the ballpoint he’s been given, there’s barely a tremor when he scoots the paper placemat at his seat closer and draws his first straight line. He takes a sip of his coffee and tunes out the bustle of the people passing by to focus on drawing the second. 

He’s not really sure of what he’s sketching in specific outside of the city- that is, until he looks up and sees something that he suspects is what made that uneasiness rise in his subconscious in the first place, smack dab in the middle of his muse. It’s a tower, taller than anything else in sight, so tall it sticks out like a sore thumb against the skyline. It’s silver, sleek, and shiny, but even that doesn’t stop Steve from thinking it’s one of the ugliest things he’s ever seen. 

To be fair, maybe he’s biased. The tower is almost like a symbol of how much the times have changed- how things in the future have apparently gotten better, _bigger,_ but still feel no less out of place. _Steve_ feels no less out of place. Staring at the building makes him feel a bit sick to his stomach, but he stays at the diner and continues to sketch it anyways. He’d rather feel sick than be alone.

It takes another hour and a half and two cups of coffee for him to finally bring his time out today to a close, making the decision to finish up right as Debby approaches with the check. He’s still finishing some shading up around the edges of the mat, hand cupped around the edge to hold the paper still, but she must notice what he’s sketching because she decides to comment right as she sets her piece of paper down. 

“You waiting on the big guy?” She says that like he should know what it means, but as usual, Steve doesn’t have a clue what people these days are ever referring to. 

Bucky used to call him big guy after the serum, but he doubts that’s what she’s referring to. “Ma’am?”

His confusion must show up on his face as well as in his voice, because she’s quick to explain. “Iron Man,” she clarifies, waving up at the sky and looking slightly embarrassed he didn’t understand, as if _she’s_ the one that’s on the outs here. “A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by.”

He’s still confused, but at least can pretend to understand now. People can fly now? He’s seen stranger things, he supposes. He’ll have to ask Fury about it next time they meet, or maybe look in the files they gave him to catch up with to see if there’s any mention. In the meantime, he nods slowly. “Right,” he says. Then, to change the subject and get going, “Maybe another time.” He begins pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket to pay. 

Debby smiles at him and uses the coffee pot she’s holding to pour Steve another cup despite the fact he hadn’t asked. “The table is yours as long as you’d like,” she says, and Steve can’t tell if he’s imagining things or if she’s really trying to get him to stay. Somehow, that makes him want to go even more, even when she continues. “Nobody’s waiting on it. Plus we’ve got free wireless.” With that, she begins to walk away yet again. 

Steve frowns and begins folding the paper placemat to pocket back along with his wallet. He’s confused again, but he only gets a weird look thrown back at him when he asks. “Radio?” As with SHIELD, the more questions he asks, the less that get answered. 

The older man behind him leans over while Steve is still at the table and gives him an exasperated look. He looks to be about the age Steve is supposed to be. “Ask for her number, you moron.”

Steve blinks at the partial insult then feels the tips of his hears burn at the implication. He’s not asking a woman out in this century- why should he? He didn’t in the last. Besides… Bucky might not be coming back, but it’s the least Steve can do to honor his memory by not moving on so fast even if he knows Bucky wouldn’t have liked it. Were they anyone knew, could they really blame him?

On paper, it’s been sixty something years since that day on the train. For Steve, it’s been not even three months. 

Once he gets back on the street with his jacket pockets once again filled with his hands, he decides to skip the walk back and take the subway instead. It’s not something he does often (or as close to _often_ as one can get in only six weeks) but that’s because it feels sort of special. The subway is one of the last things left over from when he and Bucky were young. It’s definitely changed a little, but- not a lot. Not as much as everything else. 

It’s the same sort of rickety ride he and Bucky used to take together to go to baseball games or for nights out on the town, though it takes twice as long tonight to get back to the new park of town he resides in. It’s too swanky for him to really like it, but he hadn’t had a say in where they stuck him, so stuck there he is. He doesn’t talk to anyone the entire way there, choosing instead to sit in silence, staring at the world passing outside the window with both hands clasped between his knees to keep from starting to shake again. 

He can remember sitting like this next to Bucky the same way, hip to hip, the closest they could ever risk getting when going somewhere public. If they were riding back from somewhere particularly late, sometimes Bucky would let Steve set his head on his shoulder and tell him he could shut his eyes until they were home. The sway was always comforting, as was the warmth and safety of Bucky sharing the same seat. 

Now, not many people are talking in the car that he’s in, busying themselves with headphones or books or for some people, both. Somehow Steve still feels more content sitting there than he has at any other point during the day, and it’s such a nice chance that he’s almost sad to get off. 

That’s until he does get off, though. That’s when the sadness actually starts to set in, so fast that by the time he’s made it up the stairs to his door on the third floor, his walk is more of a trudge. He hasn’t done practically anything today, but he’s still tired. 

He slept sixty six years straight and yet he’s still so goddamn _tired._

He unlocks his apartment door and steps inside to the same sort of somber silence he’s been welcomed with for the past six weeks. The lights are off, but Steve doesn’t bother to turn them off as he shuts the door behind him. The serum has it so he can see in the dark, and it’s not like there’s anyone around to need them on. Steve knows he doesn’t. All that would do is let him see the mess his life and what little belongings he has left have become. 

Bucky would have had his ass back in the forties for letting their home go like what Steve’s got in front of him right now- records he didn’t pick out strewn around a machine he’s not sure how to work, dirty dishes piled in the sink, enough laundry on the floor to last a lifetime in comparison to what he used to wear. Bucky wasn’t a neat freak, but he was no slob either, and sharing a space with Steve was a small miracle that had come at the cost of Sarah’s life cut short. He wanted to respect that, and really, Steve did too. It was just hard to care sometimes when on some days, he couldn’t even manage to get out of bed, let alone make it up. 

To Bucky, though, a well kept apartment was the sign of a well kept life, and more importantly, the opposite was a sign that Steve wasn’t taking care of their home _or_ himself. 

_“You damn jackass,”_ he often said, usually after finding out Steve hadn’t taken out the trash for over a week. Sometimes, worse. “ _We’re both the men of this house, so don’t you start up that ‘not your wife’ shit with me. You respect our place and your person, you hear me?”_

Even with only one good ear, Steve always had. He just didn’t always have an easy time _listening_ to what it was Bucky said. He did his best after those bouts of exasperation, though, sweeping up the kitchen and minding his half of their evenly split chores consistently until the charm of that broke and he was back to being lectured just to repeat to loop all over again. He’d had to make Bucky dinner more than a few times to make it up. 

But Bucky’s not coming home for dinner to this apartment. He’s not coming home at all, and really, neither is Steve. He’s here, but his heart isn’t, and he wishes his body wasn’t either. He feels about as close to a hollowed out human as the mannequin in the corner meant to keep his uniform crisp. _In case you need it,_ Fury had said. 

What for, Steve isn’t sure. They’re no longer supposed to be at war. They won that when Steve was asleep. 

Steve toes off his shoes, then takes off his coat and skips hanging in by the door in favor of tossing it on the sofa on top of where his clothes from last night are still crumpled. He sleeps on the couch most nights now. The mattress… Steve doesn’t know if he’ll be meant for something that soft ever again. And hey, if it means he doesn’t have to make the bed, maybe it isn’t so bad. Left in only his socks, slacks, and too large dress shirt, he passes by his nest of blankets to go sit in the hard chair in front of his desk instead. 

There are files sitting on it in a brown box Steve has yet to open and a computer he can’t bring himself to turn on. He’ll get to that later- for now, the files can come first. Those will hopefully be easier to work with, and he needs to accomplish at least one thing at some point today. He takes a deep breath and straightens up his posture, shifting to slide the box closer until it’s positioned in front of his chest. 

He pulls the tabs open, fingers curling around the cardboard so hard it cracks when he takes his first glimpse at what’s inside the square space. More importantly, whose face he sees once he switches on the desk lamp and finally lifts the first of the papers up. 

It’s Bucky. The printing is bad and the ink faded, but it’s him. That’s his picture. His name. His birthday, his rank, his serial number, even his goddamn _blood type_ all filled out on a file that’s marked with a stamp in red ink that reads DECEASED. Steve doesn’t know what to do with the sudden swell of emotions that rise up in his throat, but his fingers are shaking yet again when he lays the file flat on the desk to touch over Bucky’s black and white depicted face. 

It’s so quiet in the apartment that Steve is almost startled by how loud he sounds when he finally starts to sob, shoving the paper away so that the tears don’t stain what little of Bucky he has left in this life. 

_Barnes, James Buchanan. Born March 10th, 1917. Height 6’0. Weight 185 pounds. Eyes blue. Hair brown. Blood type O negative. Serial number 32557038. Rank Sergeant. Stationed with the 107th._

_Status. Missing in action. Presumed deceased._

These are all things Steve knows, some of them that he’s had memorized since he was six years old, but the sting is still so sharp when he sees it laid out in front of him that he can’t help crying. He’s always been an easy crier, though. Not about physical pain, but some of the mental. Usually after a loss. He’d cried over his Ma when she died, same with Dr. Erskine, and Bucky _then_ along with Bucky now. He’d cried when Bucky got his orders. He’d even cried the first night after he shipped out. 

_Big ol’ crybaby,_ Bucky used to tease him, just to get Steve to scowl and smack his hand away when he tried to sop up whatever remaining tears Steve had left by the time he let Bucky see his face. Bucky was always someone who didn’t know how else to help but to let himself be the shoulder to cry on, then the words of wisdom, and then, the one to help Steve blow his nose. Like he couldn’t do that himself- but that was always the better option over Bucky giving him space. Sometimes Steve needed that, but other times… he just needed to know he was safe. 

Bucky was always more stoic about shedding tears, but that didn’t mean Steve never saw them. Being the big brother, the Barnes’ only son, and Steve’s self-proclaimed rock meant that he didn’t see them often, but there were times when Steve held him as close to his frail chest as Bucky always did to his firm one. Steve wishes he were able to hold Bucky now, even while he’s the one that can’t stop the tears from falling. The first fucking file and he’s already a mess.

He feels lonelier than he ever has in his entire miserable life. Staring down at these files is the tangible proof of his loss of everyone he’d ever valued. Every red stamp only seals in the certainty that Steve’s known since waking up in that washed out set of a life he’s never getting back. He’s going to be alone for the rest of his life. There’s no one left who loves him. No one left who even _knows_ him, but Steve knows one thing, and that’s that somehow he has to go on. There's no heroics to hide his cowardice behind at the current moment. 

Bucky once told him that he didn’t have to get by on his own, right after Steve said he could. Now Steve has to, but he feels like he can’t. He will, though- he _has_ to. He’s already seen what happened when he decided he didn’t want to anymore, and that’s a hurt he doesn’t know if he could withstand again. That’s a spit in the face of Bucky’s sacrifice that he shouldn’t put to waste. 

He stares down at the file some more and lets his vision go blurry while he strokes over Bucky’s name. Bucky is gone. Steve can grieve even if he can’t move on. 

-

Not wasting Bucky’s sacrifice still has its loopholes, Steve comes to find. He lasts about another week before coping through walks and treks around town stop cutting it and he feels so pent up he would crawl right out of his skin even if it meant he’d be skinny again. He’s cagey enough for that to be the case either way. Size hasn’t changed his stubborn streak or his impulsive tendencies. 

He’s settled into sort of a sad routine that bounces between being stuck in a lethargic sort of rut and then running into something more reckless. It’s like he’s waiting for the world to spin out from under him while he’s walking just so whatever happens won’t be his fault, whether that be riding around the city at night on his motorcycle too fast or crossing the street during the day without checking for cars coming his way. It’s the type of behavior Bucky would have threatened to beat his ass black and blue for. 

_“Punk,”_ he can picture him saying in that tone that was always equal parts both fond and frustrated. _“I know your eyesight sucks, but you need to start looking out for yourself. You’re smarter than all that, so if you want me to quit calling you stupid, you better stop acting like it.”_

Actually, Steve may have liked to read more, but Bucky was always the better student. Steve was more preoccupied in school with the bullies than he was with being a brain. Bucky was still somehow a better fighter than him, though, especially after he picked up boxing. 

Funnily enough, that’s what Steve is on his way to go do now. 

It’s an even longer ride than yesterday for Steve to get to the gym he has in mind, but he sits through it best he can even if it’s with a bouncing leg and lip bitten raw by the time he’s able to get off on his stop. It’s a familiar one- he and Bucky grew up coming down this block every other day. Steve for the grocer that gave him his first job and Bucky for the gym that gave him those back muscles Steve used to love so much. 

The YMCA may have been more respectable, but Goldie’s was where Bucky really got into boxing, and it was closer to their old apartment anyways. Bucky used to go there at least three times a week after work to punch out some of the frustration about cuts in pay or the crises going on overseas. He liked fighting in his own way- different from Steve’s, but similar in the fact he liked to _win._ He just only wanted to fight when he knew it was fair. Steve doesn’t think before the serum he’d ever been in a fair fight at all. 

Bucky always fought dirty when they would wrestle or fight over dumb things when they were younger, but in the ring he was different. He was respected. Revered, even. The best boxer in all of Brooklyn, three time champion of his class, and nicknamed after Coney Island’s most popular ride to boot: the Cyclone. Steve wonders while he’s walking towards the building of Bucky”: picture will still be up somewhere inside. He’s a hometown hero, after all. 

Going info Goldie’s is almost painful. The place hasn’t changed nearly as much as the rest of the city has, and Steve is torn up and thankful for it all at once. He may not have been the member here before the serum made him so muscular, but he tagged along with Bucky to enough matches to manage to get to know his way around even while Bucky was busy in the ring. 

Bucky used to tease sometimes that Steve was with him before fights so much that maybe he should just manage _him_ instead. _“My little lucky charm,”_ he liked to joke, always ruffling Steve’s hair to rub his head before every match. “ _You gonna be my ring boy?”_

It actually took a lot longer for Steve to convince Bucky to let him get in the right with him so he could learn how to hold his own in a proper fight. He’d begged and pleaded for years- something he usually wouldn’t have been caught _dead_ doing otherwise- but it was always to no avail. Bucky didn’t want him to learn how to box, always spouting some bullshit about it giving him a big head or being too hard on his body, which of course only made Steve want to push himself even more. 

Unfortunately, it had taken Pearl Harbor and the US finally wintering the World War for Bucky to finally give in, and even that was after a bunch of groaning about how Steve needed a lot more than some training to pass the physical required to enlist. Steve hadn’t ended up passing it despite all the training Bucky had taken the time to help with. That first rejection hurt almost as much as all those practice punches to the face. 

Steve’s still feeling that different sort of sting when he walks up the steps to where the gym owner’s office is located above the reception desk. The secretary is the one who actually hands Steve the key to his locker for the day after he pays, but Steve still thanks him and calls him sir anyways. He knows what it’s like to work grunt jobs. Gratitude and respect go a long way. 

The interaction goes relatively early, but the key still feels heavy in his hand as he climbs back down to the ground floor and sets about going to the locker room instead. It’s still in the same place as it was back in the forties. Steve has to suck in a deep breath before he dares step inside- he hasn’t been in here since before Bucky’s last fight. 

It’s not that much difference. Still dank and somehow perpetually damp even though the communal shower and stalls are in the next room over. Steve has to inhale again before he can approach the line of lockers anyways. He unlocks his assigned container and starts getting changed as quickly as he can. There’s an itch under his skin that’s been simmering for the past six days, and he’s burning with the need to scratch- or at least punch- it out. Shedding his button up and the slacks he’s in in favor of a t-shirt and some sweatpants makes him feel a bit better, but he knows what he really needs to do. 

He also knows that Bucky would hate that he’s going to do it. 

He takes his duffel back with him to the empty ring set up in a side room off of where several men are in the main area playing basketball on the court set up in the center. He considers staying out there- after all, doesn’t he come out to feel less alone?- with what he’s got planned, he’s pretty sure that for once he _wants_ to be by himself. No one else needs to see him like this. 

_Like this_ is standing in front of a punching bag, poised perfectly into the form Bucky taught him with both hands positioned up to pull their first punch. That’s not the problem. No, what is is the fact that he’s chosen not to wear the gloves still sitting in his bag over on the bench. He could say he doesn’t know why he made that decision, but really, he does. It was conscious. He’s not even sure why he bought the damn things- maybe to put on a show, even if it was only for himself. 

He might not want to waste Bucky’s sacrifice, but he still wants to hurt. If he doesn’t deserve to die, he damn well deserves this. 

He has his hands wrapped, at least, but he’s not fool enough to think for a second that that’d be good enough in Bucky’s eyes no matter how good his form is when he lands his first few hard hits. They're honed. Precise. Bucky would be proud of him for them if it weren’t for the blood he can feel starting to soak through the bandages not thirty minutes in as his knuckles start to split. 

When they first began with Bucky finally agreeing to teach Steve how to box, it started out with Steve making an agreement of his own with the older man, smart mouth and stubbornness set to the side for a second while he took in just how strict Bucky was being about it. The first lesson was taught to him on a weekend the both took off of work- Bucky had gone over the top decking Steve out in all the gear, half of which he didn’t even use himself. A headgear, knee pads, a mouth guard, the works. He’d gripped Steve’s chin to slide the guard in himself and held his face still so Steve couldn’t speak while he worked, and more importantly, couldn’t interrupt his words when he spoke his piece. 

“ _Boxing regimen is the toughest there is,”_ he’d said, stern and so serious that Steve’s stomach had done a flip even before the next part got out. “ _You do what I say,_ when _I say it, or I walk out that door and you don’t see me ‘til the war is over.”_ Steve had given him a glare behind the guard met with a pointed look from Bucky’s own eyes and an upturn of the corner of his mouth. _“We understand each other?”_

Steve had scowled and shoved Bucky’s hands off of his face just so he could take out the guard to answer. “ _You’re already enjoying this._ ” His tone was accusatory, but privately, there was something sort of charming to him about seeing Bucky so competent and even more in his element than his usual confidence made him. Even while he was being an _asshole_ about it. 

Case and point, his cocky grin and the first playful punch he had tapped with his bare hand against Steve’s cheekbone. It wasn’t a real hit and it definitely didn’t hurt, but Steve still huffed anyways. Bucky’d laughed. “ _You bet your ass I am.”_ There it was. _Asshole._

The agreement on Steve’s end had been sort of hidden in that statement when he didn’t protest per his usual agitated antics every time Bucky tried to boss him around out of anywhere but their bedroom. He would listen to Bucky while he was learning as long as Bucky kept teaching him in the first place. 

They had prepared for weeks for that physical, and when the devastation of not passing hit… when at least Steve had a few new fond memories of Bucky teaching him how to properly fight. They were just as important to him as the lessons later were once he finally did join Bucky in battle. 

_You’re weak. You have to stay alert all the time or the strong will take advantage. Bigger means slower so you’ve gotta get fast. Not all big guys are dumb, but you’ve still got to be smarter._

_Give you all in a fight or it might be your last._

It hadn’t all been roughhousing and lectures- there had been some light moments in there too, where Bucky would say subtly sweet things even while Steve was taking swings at him. 

_“Gimme an uppercut- Good!”_

_“Don’t punk out on me now, Steve-o. Keep it coming- that’s it, be the man!”_

At the end, he’d usually ruffle Steve’s hair while they were still panting and give him a smile so proud Steve’s face stayed red from more than just exertion. “ _That’s my boy,”_ he always said. 

Sometimes, he even took the time to help wrap Steve’s hands in the back, kissing his knuckles between open locker doors to make sure no one was watching. “ _Gotta make sure to keep those artists' hands of yours safe,_ ” he would murmur. 

That agony that those memories make Steve feel might be what’s causing him to be so reckless with it now. He’s no one’s boy anymore. He’s twenty six- twenty _seven,_ he has to remind himself. He hasn’t been a boy for quite some time, let alone one who belongs to someone, but Bucky calling him that wasn’t really about being literal. It was just another dumb way he used to tease him. Bucky always liked doing that. 

Bucky, whose blood is on those artists’ hands he used to adore. Bucky, who because of Steve, can’t be here now in this building in any other way than in a photo on the wall. Steve’s not sure his picture is actually in here anywhere, but he thinks some of his trophies might be in the corner locked behind the case. He can’t bring himself to look. Bucky had been so _proud_ of himself. He’d been so proud of Steve for merely learning how to throw a proper punch in the first place. 

The punch Steve throws now lands crooked, and he can practically hear the knuckles crack. He grunts, loud and low into the emptiness of this lonely room he’s let himself go off into, but he doesn’t stop. Like he said, he wants it to hurt. He wants at least some small part of him to still be human. 

There’s nothing human about how fast he heals, split skin stitching together so fast Steve almost wants to scream. He hits the bag harder instead, for what might be fifteen minutes, or maybe an hour. He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. He’s used to losing track of time. 

The pain eventually blurs between physical and what Steve guesses the shrinks would say is psychological, but he still doesn’t stop. He almost feels like he can’t. His mind has memories on repeat, replaying in his head like they had on the computer screen he’d finally switched on earlier this week. There was a tape on it of him and Bucky during the war being filmed laughing together at something stupid someone said off camera. Even scruffy and soot streaked in probably unwashed clothes, Bucky was beautiful. The quality was the same shitty black and white stuff as the rest of the pictures from the forties, but their smiles had been so bright, Steve doesn’t think it matters. He also doesn’t think he’s smiled like that since. 

He had cried even harder at that than he had for the file. He hadn’t seen Bucky’s face moving that clearly since the train, and a computer might not be able to properly showcase the crinkles by his eyes or the cleft in his chin, but Steve doesn’t care. The smile on that screen was from Bucky. The smile on that screen was meant for him. 

He’d kill Steve if he saw him not using gloves when he _has_ them with him, probably pop up one in the side of his head and give him a lecture about being reckless and running the risk of damaging such a precious part of his body. His hands. His goddamn hands, that hadn’t been able to hold onto Bucky when he’d needed him most. 

All he had to do was hold him. 

He lets out a sound that he hadn’t even known that was about to slip free- something anguished from the top of his throat where the words always feel trapped when he even thinks about wanting to speak about what he’s feeling. It rings around the room for a second or two, but that’s before he punches his bag so hard, it rips off the hook and the thunk of it hitting the floor overshadows every other sound in the room save for what’s in his head. 

He’s overwhelmed and unsettled by it even though it’s a product of his own actions. The casing of it has split open to spill sand, just like Steve’s skin has done to spill the blood underneath the tape over top of it. He feels guilty seeing the spread of it. As usual, someone else is going to have to mop up his messes. 

He tries to control his breathing where his chest is still heaving from the workout and maybe something more, giving himself a few seconds before he goes over and begins to unwrap his hands so he can put fresh tape on so they won’t see any blood when he goes and asks for a broom. He can help, even while he’s hurting. 

Everyone knows what happened to the last man that tried to clean up after him. There’s apparently an exhibit on the Howling Commandos in the Smithsonian where Bucky has a memorial, at least according to the files. Steve wonders that if when the world learns he’s alive again, they’ll have to edit out his own death date below his name. Bucky is the only Commando to give his life in service of his country- Steve… he was just being a coward. He couldn’t go on without him. 

He doesn’t know if he can go on without him even now. He knows he _should,_ but… it’s so hard. It’s so hard and nothing comes easy and he feels so painfully out of place that the point of living escapes his sight a little more every day. He’s not Captain America right now, so who is he? 

What’s the old saying? If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Supposedly the answer can be argued to be _no,_ so by that logic, if no one who knows Steve Rogers is left alive, does he really exist at all?

He wishes the answer was no. He’d accept it without argument. 

By the time he finishes sweeping the spread sand up and heads back to the locker room to change back into his street clothes, his hands feel almost fully healed. He takes the tape off again, feeling a little bad about the waste, but sets that to the side in order to wince when the material pulls on a patch of skin still sticky with drying blood. The healed area might not be an open wound anymore, but the skin is still stretched thin enough for him to see the whiteness of where he’d almost beaten himself down to the bone underneath when he flexes his fingers. 

He bends down to start untying his Converse, but something about the sudden motion makes bis grip go weak while pulling the laces. When he stands back up, he’s so dizzy that he has to collapse onto the changing bench behind him and lean down to hand his head over his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. He’s not sure if it’s dehydration, exhaustion, or something else, but he feels sick. His head is spinning and everything hurts, but he doesn’t feel _human_ in the way he usually does after doing stuff like this. He just hurts and wishes more than anything he was able to go home. 

He drags in a deep breath and tries to sound determined in his head when he tells himself he _can_ do that. He can catch a subway back to his apartment, maybe even pick up dinner. Finally use the television they gave him to try and feel less alone. He tries to tell himself that, tries to convince himself best he can. He really fucking does. But it doesn’t work. It never does. 

How can he go on like this? Knowing that anyone and anything that could make it get better is dead and buried, gone somewhere he isn’t sure of or buried in the ground. He wonders, and then he wishes with all the energy he has left to exert that the Valkyrie had let him go down in the same way. He wishes it had worked so he could stop having to hurt, hurting inside and hurting himself. 

He shudders in a slow breath and snuffles when letting it make its way back out, so wetly that he has to wipe his face off on the bottom of his t-shirt before he can finish changing to head back to his supposed home. His hand aches when he goes to get his wallet out of his coat pocket in preparation for paying his way onto the subway and he hisses at it, trying to hide the expression when he has to walk back out into the main room to exit the building. 

The desk worker who had given him the broom gives him a slightly concerned look, but Steve only speeds up towards the doors. He doesn’t want them to ask. He doesn’t know what he’d say. 

He does know that bloodying up his hands was probably a dumb move, but the burn of that isn’t the only thing that’s aching. Used to be, Bucky would have seen him stinging like this and sighed before taking him to the bathroom or the back of wherever they were to try and help sort him out, all while either giving him the silent treatment or tearing him apart with words rather than action. Steve always hated the lectures even if they were part of what let him know Bucky loved him, but still, he wishes with everything in him that Bucky was still around to scold him. 

He’d rather be flayed apart in a fight, fair or unfair, than have to feel this way for the rest of his life. If he didn’t run the relative risk of being recognized he might even go out and pick one right now. 

He’s still debating over doing just that when it happens. He’s not exactly how to describe what _it_ is. He’s seen some goddamn strange things in his less than normal lifetime but this is something entirely different than a man with a red skull and no skin on his face. It’s a lot weirder than that, he would say. 

He’s walking down the sidewalk, heart still aching and hands itching to go do something stupid, feeling worse than he thinks he has since Peggy found him in that bombed out bar. Going to Goldie’s was a mistake. He doesn’t think he’ll do it again.

He might not _get_ the chance to do it again, because anomaly makes its appearance almost right after his phone- something he’s still not used to having- starts ringing in his pocket. The only numbers saved in there are people from SHIELD so Steve knows this is a call he should probably pick up, but he’s not the best at working his phone yet in general, let alone while walking with so many people around. He ducks into an alleyway so he doesn’t jumble anyone else up while he fumbles himself to get the device out to answer. 

He gets as far as letting out a gruff “Rogers” in greeting. That’s when it happens. Right as he starts to hear a response from whoever is on the other end of the line (Fury, he would wager from the sound) there’s a bright flash of white light all around him and then the world goes dark while the ground collapses beneath his feet. He’s gone. 

Once again, he didn’t even get to say goodbye. 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a rocky road figuring things out before and after their fight with Stark in Siberia, and seeing as Bucky went into cryo again not a week after it happened, they didn’t exactly have a wide window to work with what weird conditions life had decided to throw them again. If Fate is a person, Bucky doubts they like to throw the dice in their favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personally i just cried over steve myself so it seems like an opportune time to post this next chapter. this one re: what bucky has been up to. happy reading!

The last year of Bucky Barnes’ life that he’s been awake for and can really remember has been sort of strange, to say the least. Breaking out of the brainwashed complacency he’s been conditioned into as the Soldier was strange enough, but being forced back into that after having been framed for a crime he didn’t commit was something else entirely. Then, there was the matter of Tony Stark trying to kill him, getting his arm ripped off during an attempted murder by the aforementioned man, and having to go back under as a result when he and Steve sought refuge in Wakanda under the kindness of their king. 

Yeah, it’s definitely been a bit of a doozy even for someone with a life as crazy as his has been courtesy of Hydra’s capture and cryo chambers. He's getting through it, though, even if it’s taking some time. For once, he has plenty of that to work with. 

Growing up, time was as precious of a commodity as most rations were, at least in regards to how hard earned being able to spend it was. Even without Steve being on Death’s door every two weeks, what time Bucky didn’t spend loving or worrying about losing him was mostly spent at work, making sure they made enough money to buy the medicine that helped keep up their ability to continue the former pastime in the first place. 

Steve was his fella, though. He was more than glad to do it. Considering Steve is _still_ his fella, Bucky is still just as glad to do it as he was back in the day, even if it’s now a bit more difficult. He’s working with one arm here, and he might have two legs, but they’ve only recently found stable ground. Not to mention Steve is almost never able to physically be here for Bucky to provide for him anyways- but they make it word. They always have. Always will. 

Steve had fought the goddamn world for him even when he had a broken brain and a heart that beat but couldn’t feel. When Bucky had seen him- that man on the bridge who knew his name even before Bucky remembered it himself- that had been the first chip in the armor he had quite literally been soldered into. The armor that he’s now impossibly grateful for being given the chance to take off, one piece at a time until the ones he actually _wants_ with him fall back into place. It’s a process that comes with finding his peace. 

He thought that he’d found all of that he could have back in Bucharest, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Sure, the life he’d settled into after the first few rough months wasn’t half bad. He’s still pretty proud of all that he was able to build back there no matter where he is now, but he can admit that all aspects of it weren’t the best. He’d accomplished a lot- learned how to cook a little, how to engage semi-awkwardly with other people without some part of his past erupting, even got pretty good at getting apartments cheap without being cheated. 

With all that being said, there definitely were some flaws in his newly free lifestyle as well. He cooked, but wasn’t ever consistent about doing the dishes. He could talk to other people, but the paranoia about being discovered prevented him from doing that more than once every few weeks. He got apartments cheap, alright, but that cheapness almost always showed in the quality. 

When Steve found him, he’d been sleeping on a mattress on the floor with dishes and snack food wrappers scattered across the kitchen and on cinder block stacked shelves. He’d had newspapers taped over all the windows boards coming up loose from the floor. 

He’d only had about half his memories back at that point, but he knew enough about how fastidious he used to be with their old shared apartment to be slightly embarrassed about Steve finding him living that way. He used to be the one always harping on his ass about keeping their place clean, insisting it was a sign of self worth and showing their home together and their relationship the respect it deserved. 

Well. Bucky supposed that back in Bucharest, his self worth had been at somewhat of a low point, so he might not have an excuse, but he does have an explanation. He valued the chance at getting his life back, but that didn’t mean he had to value himself, not when the violence was so fresh and the freedom still so new. He’d been kept from living his life for almost seventy years. It only made sense that he’d need a little time to catch up again. 

He’d had almost two years to try and do that after the fateful incident with Steve and their fight on the Helicarrier, but only about five months of that were spent in Bucharest. Five months of setting up his first new attempt at a life only for that to be ruined by a sad man searching for revenge that didn’t even involve him. He knows that if all that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t be where he is now, but that only helps ease the bitterness a little. Thankfully, being reunited with Steve again has helped to ease it a lot. 

It had been a rocky road figuring things out before _and_ after their fight with Stark in Siberia, and seeing as Bucky went into cryo again not a week after it happened, they didn’t exactly have a wide window to work with what weird conditions life had decided to throw them again. If Fate is a person, Bucky doubts they like to throw the dice in their favor. 

Seven days together wasn’t enough to catch up on seventy years apart, but it was enough to begin. It was enough to start sorting things out, and by the time Bucky went back under, he knew Steve would still be waiting for him on the other end ready to reunite for real. Bucky hated being the reason that they had to wait for that to happen, but he hated all the words in his head even more. Being a danger to Steve and everyone else was worth what sacrifice he knew Steve would understand he had to make. He didn’t like it, but he understood, same as how Bucky had back in ‘43 when Steve kept lying to try and enlist. 

Bucky only ended up going under for about three months in the end. T’Challa’s kid sister is a genius, greater than the likes of Tony Stark (though Bucky could be a little biased about that particular comparison). When he’d woken up in that hut and she told him just how long it had been, he almost hadn’t been able to believe her after she said his trigger words were gone. How could they be? They were the only constant he’d had since his capture. The cruelty of being _made_ to be cruel was what he knew better than almost anyone. 

How could that just be… gone?

The words were gone, but the trauma of it all definitely wasn’t. Once Bucky got a grasp on that first part, it was another fucking nightmare getting a handle on the second. A nightmare figuratively _and_ literally, because he hadn’t slept through a single night for those first four weeks without screaming himself awake. Even now, he still wakes up like that sometimes. Part of him is glad Steve isn’t often here to hear it. 

That’s not to say he doesn’t miss the other man when he’s gone. Christ, sometimes when Steve visits, Bucky just wants to sit on him forever, or at least until he can convince him to fucking _stay._ He doesn’t ever ask him to. He can’t ask that much from him, not again. Besides, it’s not like he never comes home to Bucky- he makes sure to try and visit once every few weeks, but being on the run from almost every organization in the international community doesn’t exactly make that easy, and sometimes it means it doesn’t happen. Presently, it’s April. Steve hasn’t been able to come back to Wakanda since he spent the week here for Bucky’s birthday. According to their Saturday Skype sessions, he just can’t risk it right now. 

He’d looked so kicked puppy about telling Bucky why that Bucky hadn’t even had it in himself to be upset at anything but the sad expression on Steve’s face. “ _I’m sorry for all the space, Buck,”_ he’d said, quietly. “ _But_ _I think I’m gonna have to lay low for a while. Sam wanted to go home to visit his sister and see his nephew, and…”_ He’d shrugged helplessly. _“What kind of friend would I be to say no?”_

It sort of sucks, not being able to see his sweetheart in any other way besides through a screen, but that’s just how things go sometimes when you’re both wanted everywhere around the globe. Bucky can’t leave Wakanda yet without running the risk of being captured. Steve’s situation would be the same if not for how goddamn stubborn he is about helping people even when not bearing the shield. He leaves Bucky to his healing, but can’t stop running to consider maybe he should be giving the same treatment to himself. 

A self sacrificing idiot. That’s what Steve Rogers still is and always has been. Bucky should be used to it, but sometimes he has to admit that stubborn streak drives him straight up the wall. 

Bucky sighs and sits back in the chair he’s currently in. It’s cushier than he’s used to, but cushy shouldn’t be surprising. He’s in the conference room of a goddamn palace. Of course it’s posh. He grew up dirt poor- everything is pretty fancy in comparison to that.

To keep track of the time, he glances down and checks the watch currently adorning his right wrist where it’s resting on his leg. He’s in jeans and a henley today, a far cry from the grimy clothes he usually wears when working out on the farm. The cargo pants are much more comfortable, he thinks, though they do get itchy if he starts to sweat. Sticks to his leg hair. Half the time his t-shirts do the same on his chest. 

He has no technical work schedule for the farm- it’s really volunteer work, though the life on Wakanda he’s been given is one he’s thankful enough to do anything for. T’Challa has done him a service. It’s only fitting that Bucky try to do the same. 

One of those _services_ is currently sitting attached to his left shoulder. He flexes the fingers of his new prosthetic almost unconsciously, like he’s still trying to test it out in the back of his mind to make sure it’s real. It’s _his._ He’s allowed to have it, even allowed to use it to do what he _wants_ and not what other people tell him to. Shuri had been the one to design it and oversee the process of putting it om, which might sound a little insane- letting a sixteen year old girl have free reign over his only recently reclaimed body. But she was the one who helped him reclaim it in the first place. 

Besides, she’s smart and sharp and quick witted in a way that reminds Bucky exactly of his kid sisters. He always hated letting them down. Turns out, the thought letting Princess Shuri down isn’t much different. Not like he had much to lose anyways. A few loose wires and minor discomfort if the arm didn’t work out wouldn’t kill him. Shuri had been excited to make the arm to begin with, and after Bucky said yes to the reattachment, she’d practically hauled him down to her lab to begin. The walk there was spent with Bucky listening to her spout off information about what this new arm would entail if it worked out and how painless the attachment and detachment processes would be if it didn’t. 

That was a high step up from Hydra if he ever heard one. Sixteen years old, and this kid had more discretion and transparency then any other scientist Bucky had previously met. Stark included. Stark _especially._ She hadn’t lied about anything, either. There were no loopholes. She’d simply told him to sit on the table and asked her technicians to help her put it on. 

The new arm (or new _er_ arm since he’s had it for the last two months by now) is a darker color than the previous, a shade somewhere between a bluish black and a grey that glitters when the sun hits it just right. The lines of the plating are gold going all the way down to his fingertips. As metal arms go, he thinks it’s a pretty nice one. Hell, it’s _nice_ just two have two arms in general again. He owes the Udaku siblings more than he can ever say, which is why he chooses not to complain when Shuri walks in almost ten minutes late to what was supposed to be a fifteen minute meeting to check up on how her beloved arm is holding up. 

She’s holding two travel coffee cups, one of which she thrusts towards Bucky in what he thinks is a silent apology. It’s Shuri. She doesn’t do much of that out loud. Bucky laughs and lets her collapse into the chair across from him, taking his first sip before speaking. “Tough morning, I take it?”

She scoffs and gives him an over the top sigh, resituating in her seat and taking a sip of her own. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She points a playful finger at him. “Foreigners don’t get access to Wakandan state secrets.” Then, eyeing him, “Not even ones with some of our most experimental tech attached to their body.”

Bucky raises his left arm up on the table and showcases its dexterity by wiggling his fingers and pointing back. “Experimental, huh?” he says, amused. He doesn’t like the thought of being a human experiment ever again with Azzano and everything that came after, but teasing from a teenager he can handle.

She ignores his tone and switches her to businesslike, the gold ornaments adorning her braids shining in the light above them as she leans closer as if to get a better look. “How does it feel? Good? Bad?” She pokes it with her pen, picked up presumably to scribble down notes on the pad of paper already provided on the table when Bucky came in. “Is it being finicky?”

“It feels fine,” Bucky answers honestly, extending his hand out for her to examine. He sort of wishes he’d shined it up a bit before coming up- he hopes there are no crumbs stuck between the plating, but they’re a real bitch to clean out. “And no. I’ve had no issues with it.” He raises up his other hand when she gives him a suspicious look and lifts three fingers in a mock salute. “Soldier's honor.”

“You told me not to call you Seargant when we first met, so I’m not sure I see you as being a military man,” Shuri says absentmindedly, scribbling something on her pad Bucky can't read upside down. “You’re sure there have been no incidents? Nothing you would like improved?”

Bucky shakes his head and uses her lowered head as an opportunity to check his watch again. He’s going to be cutting it close today. “Not that I can think of, your Majesty.” 

“I don’t call you Seargant, you don’t call me that,” she informs him, still not looking up. She clicks her pen shut a second later and then gives him an unimpressed stare. “You’re sure you can’t think of something? Or are you just trying to kick me out?” She sounds knowing. 

In all fairness, she _should_ know what the answer to that question is. He takes his calls with Steve almost every week up here, or if he’s staying the day at the lab for some reason, in his unofficial chambers on the lower level. The reception down at the farm is terrible, and he’s going to take every chance to talk to Steve he can get. Today is no different. 

He’s just been caught in the act. But if Shuri really wants to know… “I haven’t been able to see him in weeks, you know. Just don’t want to waste what time with him I _am_ able to have.” He takes his hand back now that she’s done with it and sets it back on his thigh, tapping his metal fingers to drum against the coarse fabric of his jeans. According to his watch, he has about five more minutes left before Steve’s face should fill the screen of the tablet propped up on the table next to him in preparation. 

Shuri seems to take the hint, but still rolls her eyes as she begins to shove the pad of paper in her bag and sips again from her coffee cup. “You and your Skype calls,” she says, but her inflection is light. “Someday you should ask me about the wonders of group FaceTime. I sort of miss that boyfriend of yours.”

If Steve were here, Bucky knows he would blush at being referred to as that, but Bucky settles for an eye roll of his own. Steve had visited Bucky on occasions even when he was still under in the cryo chamber, and as a result, had gotten to know Shuri quite a bit. She likes him. Thinks how stiff he is sometimes can be is funny, especially now that she’s seen him with his friends and knows how far from that he actually is when under softer circumstances. Steve may have been an only child, but he’s always had a way with kids. Bucky’s little sisters had loved him. 

He might have to take her up on that offer at another time, but for now, he wants them to be alone. He hasn’t heard his baby’s voice in too long, and the sound of it is likely to leave him saying something so sappy it’s stupid. She’d make fun of him forever for it and they both know it. So, he presses his lips into a thin line and raises his eyebrows to give her a look. 

“I’m sure you gave more important things to do than spy on two old men, your Majesty,” he says. The usage of the disliked name is intentional. She gives him a dry side eye at it after scooting her chair back to stand and start to walk out. “I’ll tell Steve you say hello.” She flips him the bird over her shoulder while exiting through the door. “Close that, would you?” he calls. 

She does, but only after sticking her head in as she does to give him an overly sweet smile and a sarcastic “Try not to use up all the bandwidth.” With that, she slams the door shut and leaves Bucky to laugh by himself. Like that’s even _possible_ with the sort of electronics systems they have in the palace. 

The picture, per usual, is crystal clear when he and Steve’s signals finally connect. Bucky can practically feel his entire perk up at the first sight of Steve’s smiling face. “Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says softly. Steve yawns, and slips into another smile after while he rubs at his eyes. He looks tired, Bucky notes, but still damn good. His gorgeous guy. 

“Hi, Buck,” Steve responds, voice kept low. Bucky wonders where he is that has him being so quiet, but he doesn’t have to wonder long when he sees Sam walk by in the background to a blanketed lump Bucky presumes must be Natasha crashed on the couch of whatever safehouse they’re staying at. Sam must be back from the states. Bucky wonders what that means for how long Steve will have to wait to see him. 

He doesn’t ask that in mixed company that he might accidentally make guiltly. Instead, he opts for a different question. “How have you been?” Good, he hopes. But he knows how rough being on the run is, and _good_ has almost always been a relative term to them. 

Steve said he had been _good_ after getting beaten black and blue three times a week back in the forties. Bucky said _he_ was good while still opening the orders he knew would send him off to war. Steve also claimed he was good before Bucky was back with him- but according to everyone who had been him before then, that’s a lie. Bucky doesn’t like to often think about why. 

Steve sighs and scratches at his jawline where the skin has gone stubbly. He must be in a position where he can’t shave again, because normally, he hates having facial hair. Says it itches. Bucky always likes to tease him about what that means in terms of the thick skin shtick Steve likes to play up in the field- Steve might be stronger than anyone Bucky has ever met, but he can be sensitive too. 

“I’ve been better,” the blonde finally answers, and Bucky’s brow furrows in wonder about what could have possibly happened to make Steve admit that to him so easily. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks, trying not to sound like the worried boyfriend he knows he’s being. But because he _is_ Steve’s boyfriend, he’s also _allowed_ to worry. “All of you, I mean,” he adds on, because he does worry about Sam and Natasha too. The might be better friends with Steve than they are with Bucky (which considering their current history is fair) but he’s thankful for them regardless. He’s glad that if Steve has to be on the run, at least it’s not alone. Sam and Natasha are good friends. Steve has always needed at least a few of those. 

Steve nods quickly, apparently more worried about worrying _Bucky_ than he is about being worried for himself. He’s an idiot like that. Bucky wishes he were here to he could smack the side of his head with his hand (and then, because he’s missed him, maybe a kiss). “We’re all okay. It’s just been….” He blows out a breath and rakes his hand through shaggy golden hair that’s gotten far too long for his usual style. “It’s been a stressful week.”

Bucky hums and puts his hand on the screen, flesh bicep flexing up so Steve can see even from the other side. It’s a small, silly comfort, but it’s the only one he can offer in any way besides word. Bucky makes sure to still offer the words up too. “Hope you can all stay safe,” he says, wishing more than anything he could be there or Steve could be _here_ so Bucky could stay safe with him, so Bucky could _keep_ him safe on his own. 

Natasha and Sam both work wonders, but they also both lived at some point with Steve and Bucky being myths to them rather than men. They know better than that now because they know _Steve_ better than anyone save for Bucky, but there are still ways that they can sometimes still fall short. It’s not their fault, though. Steve is the one intentionally standing to keep himself out of complete reach. It’s not really his fault either- that’s just how Steve Rogers has always been, even before the serum. Selfless to a fault. Shitty about letting himself be taken care of when he in a place to need it and even worse when he goes about business believing that he’s not. 

Steve swallows and his shoulders slump as he nods, eyes darting to the side like he’s searching for something. Something, Bucky finds out a moment later, is privacy. From his own end of the call, he sees Steve’s camera start to shake and can hear mumbling in the background when he starts to move. “Gonna go to my room.” That must be a statement meant for Sam, because that’s who responds. 

“Try to keep it down in there before we fall asleep, Romeo.” Then, louder, “Hello, Bucky-borg.” There’s a sound of skin hitting skin when Steve apparently slaps his arm for the joke. 

Bucky snorts. He won’t admit Sam’s joke is funny, but he _will_ admit it’s cute when Steve’s face is still red when he comes back on screen, now in a smaller room with a dimmer light and less noise. Bucky smiles at him again and lets his voice come out even softer with his second greeting, the one he didn’t want to say with someone else around. He’s not ashamed of what they share at all, but with Steve… some things they like to save just for themselves. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve missed you this week.” 

And the last one. And the one before that. Then the one _before_ before that, and the one before even _that-_ it’s a pretty easy point to make. Bucky misses him every second he’s not here. 

Steve hums and sets his tablet to lean against what Bucky thinks is a pillow based off of the view he gets with Steve snuggling into his temporary bed a second later. It must be later where they are. In Wakanda, it’s barely noon. “I’ve missed you too,” he whispers, head now sideways against the second pillow popped under his head. His hair is fanned out far enough for it to look like a lion’s mane. 

Bucky chuckles a little at the sight and tucks a strand of his own hair behind his ear. It’s not long enough to put up into a bun, but he hasn’t quite managed to figure out how he’s meant to get it all to stay on top of his bead for longer than fifteen minutes without it falling down. It’s frustrating dealing with it sometimes, but he kind of likes the look on himself. _Ruggedly handsome,_ Steve has called it. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep on me any second, there, Steve-o. You sure you still wanna stay on the call?”

Bucky wants him to stay for more than just the call, but he can’t say that with Steve as cuddled up and relaxed as he is right now. He’s had a rough week. Bucky isn’t going to make it worse, especially when Steve deserves some rest and Bucky knows bow much it sucks not being able to sleep. He’s not the only one with nightmares, though Steve’s are more sparse than his at this point, which is something he’s grateful for. He’s woken up more than a few too many times to the sound of chattering teeth. 

Steve yawns again, but nods best he can with his face smushed half into the pillowcase. “Wanna talk to you,” he insists, but even then it’s sleepy. “You trying to ditch me or something?”

“Never.” Bucky curls his palm under his chin to prop himself up more easily, bristly hair of his beard catching against the well earned callouses he’s accumulated these past few months from working with the land. He’d gotten different ones when he was working with guns. He likes to feel the difference. “I’ll stay on with you even if you drift off. Don’t worry.”

Steve makes a face, his own burgeoning beard a shadow against the bottom of his face. “You saying you like to watch me when I sleep? Sounds kinda creepy, Buck.”

“I stalked you for three weeks after the Potomac,” Bucky informs him, tone light so Steve won’t shy away from him poking fun at sensitive subject matter. “I think taking a screenshot of you sleeping on a Skype call is slightly less menacing.” 

Steve makes a face at him like he wasn’t already aware of this information. Bucky just makes one back so that Steve’s scowl cracks into a laugh. Christ. Bucky has missed the sound of that so much. “What, are you making a folder of them or something?” He purses his lips and looks pointedly to the side like he’s pretending to try and think. “Now what would you want pictures of me in bed for…”

Bucky huffs and has to glance back to make sure the conference room door is still shut before lowering his voice to answer. He drops his timbre just to see how the rap of it makes Steve’s ear not planted on the pillow turn red. “Well… I do get lonely,” he drawls, immediately dropping the act to laugh at the undignified little sound Steve lets slip free at the suggestion. “I’m kidding. C’mon, sweet cheeks, lighten up.”

Steve scrunches up his nose. “It’s dark out where I am.” 

Bucky doesn’t bother asking where exactly that is. There’s not much of a risk to be ran in terms of their talks getting intercepted, but it’s better to play it safe than sorry. Bucky already has enough to be sorry for. Besides, if it really came down to it, he bets Shuri could somehow manage to track Steve with the goddamn vibranium magnets in his suit. She’s a genius, after all. She’d been chattering to him about measuring the decay of organic material just last week. 

Steve looks a little too tired to process all that, though, so Bucky sticks to a simpler conversation. “One of my neighbors down at the farm has been trying to pawn off goats to me for the last week,” he starts, hoping his voice will soothe Steve into a lull. “I guess his nanny gave birth to some babies and he’s too busy to play nursemaid.”

Steve’s eyes are niw shut, but he’s still awake to snort and shift so he’s laying more comfortably, broad shoulders and back curled beneath a blanket. “What, he wants you to be a father figure?”

“Hey,” Bucky complains good naturedly. “What’s so funny about that, huh, big guy?”

“Well, I just figured if you were ever a father, these days you’d want it to be with me.” There’s no way Steve doesn’t mostly mean that as a joke, not with how unstable their lives currently have to be, but Bucky’s heard still drops to what feels like his stomach’s pit and then soars right back up. 

Jesus. Steve can’t just spring saying shit like that on him out of nowhere. Especially not now that men like them can get married. Not now that men like them can have _kids._ Steve has gone very quiet on the other end, apparently realizing the implications of what he’s just said. 

Bucky breaks the silence before it settles down too deep. “I wanted it even before,” he says, hushed even though there’s no one around to hear them. Something about the moment seems like it demands him to be gentle before he messes it up and can no longer see where this goes in the future, the one they’ll be able to face together this time around. “You should know that, Steve.” He gives him a small smile and smacks the screen to substitute for what he’d do if Steve weren’t god knows where on the other side of the world. “But maybe next time you visit I’ll same one so you can name it. Or I’ll just make one your namesake.”

His attempt at easing the mood works, Steve blinking both eyes open again so they crinkle up the edges when he smiles. “Yeah? Steven Junior does have a nice ring to it.”

Bucky huffs. “Now who said I’d name anyone Steven Junior? I was thinking more along the lines of Stevie.” Then, squinting to survey Steve’s half-slackened features, “Or maybe Little Shit.”

The camera shakes as Steve positions himself to lay on his stomach and have both arms crossed so that he’s hugging his pillow to his face. “Hey,” he complains. “Aren’t you supposed to be all lovey-dovey? Thought you _missed_ me.” He’s not being whiny, but he _is_ being dramatic. 

Bucky doesn’t call him out on it, choosing to smile and roll his eyes instead. “I love you,” he croons, playing up the dramatics himself to help match the mood. “ _And_ I miss you. But a guy’s gotta calls ‘em how he sees ‘em, sweetheart. Don’t you want to make an honest man out of me?”

Steve groans and buries his face in his pillow. “I love you too but I hope that’s not a marriage proposal, because I’m not accepting that sort of thing through a _screen.”_

“Come see me soon in person and we’ll try it again proper,” Bucky fires back. Like Steve and the father remark, he’s mostly joking. But that isn’t meant to suggest he doesn’t mean it. He would marry have married his punk of a sweetheart back in the summer of ‘39 in circumstances had allowed it. 

Circumstances in the States will allow otherwise, but unfortunately he nor Steve are in a place to put a ring around their finger. The wars they’ve both been in may have been won, but their fights are far from over. 

For now, Bucky doesn’t bring that burden up. He has better things to do, like focus on the sight of his fella practically asleep to the sound of his voice on the screen in front of him. Steve looks so tired. There are bags under his eyes and shadows that cross his face even past the alight beard that’s been growing in. His hair is tangled from more than just the fluff of being in bed, and Bucky can tell that he’s decided to go to bed tonight without brushing his teeth. 

Despite all that though, he looks pretty. More importantly, he looks more at peace than Bucky has been able to see him for the past three weeks. He’s gotten glimspes of Steve in just about every state someone can be in- sick, bloody, brooding, broken, disheveled, dirty, at every level of upset- but every single one is still just as heart stopping to Bucky as the previous. He’s been looking at Steve for what feels like his entire life, and he knows that his heart stopped truly beatinf the moment he was no longer in it. 

Steve Avenges Bucky. Bucky looks after Steve. Time, body, and place- it doesn’t matter. That won’t change the fact that Bucky takes care of him. None of those things can tear them apart. 

He keeps the prior promise he made to Steve and stays on the line even after the blonde drifts off into slumber, the only sign he’s about yo do so being a low, sighed out “Love you, Buck. Talk to you next week.”

“Love you back, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs back, flesh fingertips pressed to the screen and over top Steve’s sleeping face. “I’ll talk you you soon.”

A silence settles over the conference room soon after the words are spoken, but it’s comfortable. Bucky is content to stay sat in this chair and keep watching Steve curl up into what he hopes is a good dream on the other side for as long as the damn battery life on this thing allows. There’s even an outlet nearby is Bucky leans to the side. He could spend the whole day holed up in here to make sure Steve can spent his whole night sleeping. 

He _could._ He could, but really he knows he shouldn’t. Time might be easier to spend nowadays, but he knows better than anyone that it’s still something precious, and Bucky has an entire day of things that can be done out in front of him. The choice of what should be made of it is now his again to make. 

He makes sure to mute himself before tapping out of the Skype session just to make extra sure Steve isn’t woken up, but before he goes, does something so stupidly sappy that he’s almost glad Steve isn’t awake to see. He kisses the fingertips of his flesh hand and presses them to the screen once again. It’s not like the touch can transfer through- even Wakandan tech isn’t yet that _advanced-_ but it settles something inside him to carry out the impulse. He can’t kiss Steve while they’re on opposite sides of the world. He might as well steal what little moments they can have to put in his heart to keep. 

He’s still holding the memory of it close when he begins the climb down the palace steps, taking them towards the path that goes through the garden gates and to the hills that hold the land he farms between the bumped up peaks. It’s the route that’s more familiar by this point, and definitely more scenic than taking the streets. He sort of likes the quiet that comes over him when he walks by himself. 

He spends today’s walk thinking over what he might have for dinner tonight. He doesn’t quite have the kind of kitchen in his hut that he was able to have back even in his shitty Bucharest apartment, but he does have the basics. A small fridge, a cooler, a convection oven, a fire and pot in place of a stove- it’s not much, but it’s enough to work with. It’s enough to make do. 

What Bucky usually winds up _making_ are meals made for one save for the occasions where Steve is here and Sam sometimes chooses to stay for dinner. Those occasions don’t get to happen as often as Bucky would like, but it’s not as if he’s letting himself go hungry between them. Supper for a single super soldier is just a lot smaller than it is for serving two. Bucky saves making most big meals for when he has Steve able to be back with him, able to cuddle up by the fire beside him while they eat in the hut and then collapse together in a pile on the bed, stuffed full and feeling content. 

Steve hasn’t come home to Bucky’s hut for so long that the mere sight of his stuff lying around lately has had Bucky feeling sentimental, Christ, the two of them. Seventy years apart and less than two months has Bucky breaking?

Or not _breaking,_ really. Bucky’s more whole now than he has been in a long while, but being whole doesn’t mean he can’t be _bothered_ or miss having his heart’s biggest piece by his side. The last time Steve was here, he left behind one of his sketchbooks and a few shirts that Bucky doesn’t mind admitting have spent the night on the pillow next to him. It’s silly, but it had helped him sleep better at the time, and his therapist is always saying that sometimes the small things that may seem stupid are part of what helps a person heal the most. 

Bucky’s not sure he’s one of those people, but a night without nightmares had been nice. He’d woken up from those rests more refreshed than he has at any other point in the past few weeks. Men not like him might like to think they can lead completely normal lives, but for himself- he’s learned otherwise, a lesson that has come to helo him accept that that fact is okay. He’s not like other men. He’s one of only two of a kind in existence when it comes to the serum, and one half to a whole when it comes to the only other man with it rushing through his veins. 

Blood of his blood. Vein of his veins. Bone of his bone. Some of those can be taken more literally than others. 

When Steve was about ten years old, Bucky accidentally broke his nose by bringing an elbow down to his face. In his defense, even back then Steve had been short in comparison to most of the other children they attended classes with. It had been an easy target to hit. Bucky hadn’t even meant to take aim. It was the first time that particular injury ever happened to Steve, and Bucky’s pretty sure it’s still the only one that hadn’t been brought on by a fight. 

Bucky had felt so bad about it after it happened that when he finally had gotten Steve home after, he’d practically run straight into Sarah’s apron strings and cried, Steve trailing in with Bucky’s now stained hanky over his swollen nose, still sticking by his side despite the fact Bucky had _hit_ him. Bucky had _hurt_ him. 

Steve hadn’t been nearly as torn up with it as Bucky was at that moment, merely clutching the cloth closee and looking up at Sarah, blue eyes burning stubbornly with insistence. “I’m fine, Mama. It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

That had only made Bucky want to bawl even harder- he had never wanted to hurt Steve at all. Hours later after Bucky’s own tears had finally subsisted was when _Steve’s_ finally decided to _start._ He’s always been an easy crier in select situations. Apparently worries about his physical appearance were more important than physical pain. 

_“I don’t want to have an ugly nose,”_ he’d sobbed, clutching skinny knees to an equally skinny chest while Bucky set down the comic he had been reading beside him. _“My ma said that at the hospital she has to tell ‘em it’ll probably heal crooked.”_

In truth, Steve’s nose was already nothing to shy at- not in an ugly way. His features were just striking, something that even at a young age Bucky could see starting to form as Steve’s face matured before his body. 

But also even at a young age, Bucky knew how to have tact even when teasing. He’d poked Steve with his foot and given him a grin he hoped didn’t come across as too guilty. _“We’ll tell everyone it’s a battle scar,”_ he had suggested, half joking, half serious. At ten and eleven, that was the sort of thing they could still do and it would be considered cute. “ _Say you broke it fighting some bad guys or something.”_

Steve’d just sniffed and stared at him, eyes wide and nose still puffed up at the bridge, a bruise forming under his eye where Sarah had helped set it before supper. _“You’d still wanna be my friend even if I have a crooked nose?”_ His voice had been nothing but a hoarse, high pitched croak. 

Bucky almost had wanted to smack him again at that- where did this kid get off saying something so stupid? But, he’d sworn an oath to himself earlier while curled up on the Rogers’ couch as he heard Steve scream and then cry from the kitchen where Sarah was trying to straighten things up. He was never going to hurt Steve again, accidentally or otherwise. 

That had been part of the reason it took him so long to agree to teach the younger man how to box. Steve got into enough fights without Bucky’s help with anything besides getting _out_ of them. Teaching Steve how to properly fight felt like he was giving his pride and open invitation to go overboard with what he’d learned in a body where his mind matched his spirit but not his skin. He’d given in eventually, though. If by some miracle Steve passed the physical and managed to enlist, he’d need to know how to handle himself. Even if they both shipped out at the same time, there would have been no certainty of whether they’d be stationed together so Bucky could keep his bony butt safe. 

It had almost been a funny twist of fate when Bucky got stationed to the same unit Steve’s dad once was in. That’s what he got for always teasing about being Steve’s old man. 

Steve’s nose had ended up healing with a bump after the break, but no matter how much guilt Bucky felt when first seeing it, he actually grew to love it just as much as he loved the rest of Steve. No matter _what_ body he was in. Before the serum, Bucky had been sort of a smug bastard about being the one behind such a prominent part of Steve’s face. The bump has always suited him, Bucky thinks. Shows he’s breakable, but still strong. 

It also shows that he belongs to Bucky down to his very _bone._ Bucky had left his mark on him. It meant more than he’s ever been able to say when that was the one flaw the serum decided to leave alone. 

The first time Bucky had seen him in the daylight after Azzano, he’d been stunned silent by the perfect specimen that his best friend- his _sweetheart-_ had become. Almost everything was different, but that damn bump on the bridge of his nose… the bump had remained. His bond with Bucky has always persevered the same way. 

That oath Bucky made to himself when Steve was ten only made it that much more painful when the Winter Soldier delivered a world of hurt and more to Steve up on the Helicarrier. By the time the Soldier had left him on the riverbank, Steve was only half breathing, but logically the Soldier knew Sam wouldn’t be far behind. So he had left. 

It had taken another six months of relearning the man that he once was for Bucky to finally remember the oath and how badly it had been broken. All he could do was allow _himself_ to break down with it. 

Now that they’re back to a point where they can be together again, Bucky always makes extra sure to kiss Steve’s nose every night, half to make him smile and half to make some of the lingering guilt about the second round of hurting he made Steve feel go away. Part of him thinks it never will completely, but that’s okay, as long as he’s got Steve and his crooked nose still here to help him deal with it. Hell, sometimes Bucky’s path to healing is half as bent. 

He’s still taking the literal path down to the farm right now, silently thanking whatever deity watches over this place that he’d still chosen to wear his boots today rather than something more casual to match the rest of his clothes. He’s going to have to change out of them as soon as he gets to his hut- there’s no way in hell he’s going to work outside in this heat still wearing _jeans._

Said jeans are starting to stick to his legs same as his cargo pants do when it’s particularly hot. He grimaces and shoulders the pack he has slung over his back containing his tablet. He doesn’t know how the Dora Milaje handle walking about in all that armor all day. He doesn’t envy them, even if he _does_ admire them. Ayo is one of the best sparring partners he’s ever had, even if she does delight a little too much in managing to kick his ass. 

She’s the first person in this century that Bucky has met who has a relationship with someone like his and Steve’s. Or, not someone- a woman. He knows that Wakanda and the States have few similarities, but it still blows his mind that he can be with Steve so openly. Tony Stark may not have known what Bucky is to Steve, but T’Challa does. Sam does. Natasha does. Bucky’s pretty sure that even _Sharon_ does. 

_He’s my friend,_ Steve had told Stark in Siberia, kneeled in front of Bucky’s body practically begging for their lives so he didn’t have to hurt anyone, so Stark wouldn’t try to keep hurting _them._

 _So was I._ Bucky was only half conscious to hear that line, but he feels a sense of irony about it now. Before going back under, he hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Steve about how things were for him when they were apart, but he has now. And he knows _exactly_ how much of an asshole Tony was to him when they first met, when Steve had barely been out from under the ice for a goddamn year. 

He was still all alone at that point, and Tony sure as shit wasn’t trying to be his friend then. If he had been, maybe things for Steve wouldn’t have been as bad. Bucky might bicker with Sam sometimes, but he’s beyond grateful that he and Natasha stumbled into Steve’s life and decided to stay. They helped take care of Steve before Bucky was back around to pick up the job. They still help out now- that’s what friends do. 

He wonders sometimes that if Tony had known back in Siberia or before, would things have been better or worse?

He’s so caught up in thinking about that that his foot catches on the same goddamn rock it always does, right by the gate to what is currently his home. He curses and is glad that he now has another arm to help balance himself out- formerly, that same rock had caused more than a few flat out falls where Bucky only had one hand to try and catch himself before he crashed. In the beginning he had shown up to his weekly Skype session with Steve in pants streaked with dirt and dust at least a dozen times. Shuri had made fun of him, then told him he had to put a towel down so as to not sully the seat. Bucky’s thankful for his new arm for more than a few reasons, but the cut back in falling off balance is definitely one of them. 

He looks a lot different now than he thought he ever would growing up, he thinks, entering his hut and immediately setting about starting to change. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror leaned up in the corner, making eye contact with himself and starting to muse about his appearance instead. Not self consciously. Just… contemplating. Studying. 

With his shirt still on, the most obvious difference is his hair, now taken out of its bun with wayward strands falling down to his shoulders and catching in the scruff of the beard also adorning his face. Before the war, he’d been fastidious about his self grooming- short hair slicked back, face constantly clean shaven. During, he’d started skipping opportunities to shave the same way Steve does now, and after… the Soldier didn’t get to keep much hair anywhere but his head, let alone behind the muzzle. It’s the sort of contrast he likes to take advantage of now, hence how he’s growing out all the hair on his body he can. 

Steve says it makes him look like a bear. With how long _his_ hair currently is, Bucky likes to say he looks like a lion. 

With his shirt stripped off, the most notable change is obvious: the arm, and all the scarring surrounding where the first one was attached. He’s past the point of thinking it’s ugly, for the most part. Steve has shown him that he loves every new part of him every chance he gets. He’s sweet that way. Soft even to the parts of Bucky that are comparably harsh to handle, adoring to the ones that Bucky finds hard to love. The rest of his body is whole, but it’s still not the same as it once was when Steve saw him last before he fell. He was lean back then from too little food and too much movement, all wiry muscle and barely any meat. Now, he’s sort of the opposite. Still just as muscular, but bulked up with the more frequent opportunities to eat and the security in knowing he’s no longer going to have to pick up and leave. 

The Soldier and Sergeant Barnes had had the habit of always standing on edge- heavy hitting in a fight, but poised for flight just in case immediately after. Now, Bucky is no longer on the tips of his toes. He can put all the weight he wants into resting flat on his feet, literally with how much muscle working the farm has added to his form even after what he’d put on during the window of time before Bucharest. That’s another contrast he likes to keep. It’s _his_ body now. He can do with it what he wants. 

What he wants to do with it right now is go out and fix the fence post that had fallen during a rainstorm last week. He puts his hair back into a ponytail this time, pulling on a pair of clean cargo pants and a black tank with a cutoff work shirt thrown over top. Not exactly the same as what he used to wear down at the docks, but it’ll do. 

The sun is beating down hard enough for him to be breaking a sweat almost as soon as he steps out of his doorway and heads to where the wooden post is lying flat on the ground. He’s lucky he doesn’t have any livestock in that particular pen right now. He doesn’t want to know what Shuri would say if she caught wind he had accidentally let any animals out. Something about useless city boys, he would wager. She’s not wrong. He likes it here, but that’s always what he’ll be at heart. Steve is the same way. 

It’s fairly easy to pull the broken part of the fence back up with his prosthetic, but Bucky knows he could have done it with his flesh hand as well if he wanted. He worked to maintain this place for months without it, after all. It was definitely harder, but he had done it- tossing hay bales into wagons with one arm was not a feat to shy at, but even half off balance, he’d picked up the skill. He’s still sort of proud of that now. 

The first time Steve had visited him, he had sat perched on a rock nearby while watching Bucky work through his morning chores. About twenty feet away, the local kids had climbed up in a tree to do the same, the same they did almost every day. Bucky can’t blame them. He’s an outsider, not to mention someone with super strength. He can’t blame them for wanting to investigate- and like he said, he always hated disappointing his little sisters. What kind of asshole would he be if he didn’t offer them something to see? 

He’s taken to tossing the hay bales one handed even now that he has two arms again. Even when he only had one, when Steve had seen him do it, he’d laughed and told Bucky to quit showing off. Like _he_ wasn’t as delighted by the sight as much as the kids were. His face had grown red from more than just a sunburn.

Bucky had just thrown him the most dazzling smile he could while still covered in dirt and dust from the hay, some of which he was pretty sure he had sticking out of his hair. _“You know, you could help me out here, pal.”_

Steve, per usual, tried to look innocent. _“I’m supposed to be taking time off, Buck. Not working.”_ Then, when Bucky gave him an unimpressed look, he’d grinned, laying back over the rock and stretching so languidly that Bucky started thinking that the lion comparison was becoming literal. 

Not that he’d minded then or minds it now. Steve deserves to take time off- he deserves to let Bucky take care of him, the stubborn bastard. Steve’s still hurting from what happened with Stark more than he’d like to admit, and Bucky wishes he could show him that hurting is _okay._ Steve gets so caught up in his head with some stuff that not even Bucky can pull him out. He’s objective with almost everything except when it comes to himself, always trying to help people work through their problems and emotions but never wanting to handle his own in the way they deserve. 

Over half their lives spent together, and Bucky doesn’t know how to get it through his thick skull that not every weight of the world needs to rest on his shoulders and not every burden needs to be borne alone. Steve sucks at being alone. There’s been entire studies done on his choice with the Valkyrie that have proven that point, though Bucky doesn’t think Steve knows that they exist on record. Hell, he only knows they exist because he’d done all the research he could on _Captain America_ before he remembered who Steve even was. It’s something they don’t talk about much outside of the first time Steve had opened up after Bucky woke up and wanted to get to know him again- yet another thing Steve wants to stay bottled up. Sometimes Bucky wants to squeeze him too tight when he holds him in hopes that the cork will pop out. 

But Steve’s not here to hold right now. Bucky sighs and wipes the sweat from his brow, pushing the post back into the ground and hammering it down with his metal fist clenched into a ball. He probably should have grabbed his actual hammer from the toolbox, but it’s not like vibranium is easily dented or scratched. Shuri’s always saying she wants to test the durability anyways, and for the fence, it seems to get the job done. Bucky bends down, holding the post up with his prosthetic just in case, and sets about scooping some dirt to pack back down around the base. Hopefully it’ll stay up better than it did the last time. 

Now that the post is up, he moves on to making sure the wooden slats that connect it to the next are put back into place as well. Tomorrow he might have to see about getting some wire just to reinforce it, but for now, he thinks this will do. If he ends up getting those goats he told Steve about, he may have to make up a different plan, though- from what his neighbor has said, the animals are a damn nuisance when it comes to how often they escape. Bucky can handle a few nuisances, though. Lord knows he’s had enough practice with chasing Steve around when they were kids themselves. 

Both of them are thirty something years old, and Bucky is _still_ chasing him around. Figuratively, for now. 

Once he’s finished with the fence, Bucky heads back to the hut to wash off his hands under the spigot out back. He doesn’t have a proper shower down here so much as a hose that he drapes over a tree branch with a bucket full of holes attached to the bottom, but the spigot is pretty good at helping get the job done. It’s a sink and a shower all at once. Bucky at least has a more proper bathroom out back in the form of a shed, though, which he’s glad for. After the war, he’s had enough squatting in the woods for a lifetime. He knows some of his neighbors have better appliances for these kinds of things installed, but when T’Challa offered him the farm, he’d not wanted to bother them with the details.

There’s actually a path behind his place that leads to a partially hidden waterfall and pool, the trail well worn but not one he’s ever seen anyone else walk on. Bucky half wonders if that’s why T’Challa chose to put him up in this particular hut in the first place. He spends a lot of his alone time there, submerged under the warm water and soaking the silence in. It’s something about this space he’s been given that he only shares with Steve.

Bucky thinks about going there now to wash off for a while before he sets about eating a late lunch, but right as he’s finishing rinsing off his hands and heading back towards the hut to grab a towel and some of his toiletries, something very unexpected happens. Not even _very_ unexpected- something so totally bizarre that Bucky doesn’t think he ever could have expected it at all even with how many weird things he’s seen in this life.

There’s a flash of white and then somehow, a circle that glows gold expanding around its center, where as Bucky watches in fascination, a man that looks almost exactly like the Steve Bucky lost sight of back in the Alps stumbles out and collapses on the ground in a heap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss steve right now too bucky :,)
> 
> in any case: more comments? more kudos? we shall see what the new day brings us.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This man- he looks like Steve, but not the one Bucky knows is asleep on the other side of the world right now. This can’t be Steve. Steve now has shaggy hair and the beginnings of a beard. Whoever this man is looks closer to the old pictures of him Bucky had seen following the reveal of his return after the Battle of New York. He’s even got the right kind of clothes on and everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and at long last our heroes meet...

For a moment, time stops. Bucky should probably be used to that happening to him by now, but he doesn’t think anyone can blame him for freezing up, because what the fuck _else_ is happening to him right now? He stares for a second at the ground and the man lying unconscious on it, taking in the familiar features with the same horrified fascination he’d watched the flash of light with that apparently caused him to show up. 

Whoever _him_ is. This man- he looks like Steve, but not the one Bucky knows is asleep on the other side of the world right now. This can’t be Steve. Steve now has shaggy hair and the beginnings of a beard. Whoever this man is looks closer to the old pictures of him Bucky had seen following the reveal of his return after the Battle of New York. He’s even got the right kind of clothes on and everything. 

There’s another flash of light as the circle that had brought this guy- _Not_ Steve, Bucky’s brain supplies- here disappears in a snap, like a lamp that’s been switched off. Bucky sort of expected there to be some sort of sound, but it’s eerily silent. It’s the confusion of that that finally gets Bucky to draw out of his head and rush over to where Not Steve is still passed out on the ground in a pile of horribly out of style clothes and a scarily still body that doesn’t stir even when Bucky checks if he’s breathing and tries to shake him awake. 

_What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck._ Bucky doesn’t know what to do besides repeat the words like a mantra in his brain, because _what the fuck._ He stares at the face down in front of him, still shocked, but then spurs back into action. 

He taps his right wrist, more thankful than ever that Shuri had fashioned his watch with a Kimoyo bead built into the face, because he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to handle this… surprise on his own. At first, he’s not sure who to call, but he settled on taking it straight to the top. There’s been a breach in Wakanda’s normally airtight security. It seems only fitting the king should be the first to know. 

Most subjects don’t have access to directly dial up T’Challa’s communications channel, but since Bucky is a bit of a special case, he does. Still, the king is a busy man, and there’s no promise he can always answer. Bucky just prays that today will be a time he can pick up. 

Thankfully, he does. The picture connects within a moment, and Bucky, for all that he tries to mind his manners around royalty, has to interrupt the other man’s greeting with a grim face and straight to the point tone. “We have a situation down here that you’re going to want to see.”

T’Challa’s usual small smile slides off his face and is replaced by something more serious. “What’s going on?”

Bucky doesn’t even know what words he should use to explain- he may have been here to see it, but that doesn’t mean he understands what the fuck he just saw. He tries to stick to the basics, flipping the scope of the Kimoyo bead’s feed to fix on what’s in front of him rather than his own face. “He just showed up out of nowhere,” Bucky says, struggling to keep his volume above a whisper while he tries to come to terms with whatever is going on. “I was walking back inside, and then all of the sudden there was a flash of light, some sort of circle- I can’t give you too much to go off of. He just… _appeared.”_

“And do you think you know him?” T’Challa’s voice is even, but Bucky can hear what he’s walking and snapping his fingers at what he presumes is the royal guard in the back. They must be on their way down. 

Bucky licks his lips, throat suddenly closing and mouth going dry. He doesn’t have an answer for that, either. Apparently right now, he doesn’t have an answer for anything. T’Challa knows Steve. He’s seen him, even if it’s with shorter hair and a slightly more aged face, but Bucky doesn’t doubt he recognizes him now. He’s not asking if this is Steve. He’s asking if _Bucky_ thinks this is Steve. Again, Bucky doesn’t have an answer. 

He tries to be as honest as he can when he gives it his best shot. “I don’t think I can tell you that until he’s awake, but he looks exactly like Steve does.” Down to the damn bump on his nose and the moles that make a line from his neck right up to it. “Just… younger. I don’t know. I wasn’t with him when he would have been like this.”

Back then, no one would have been with him. Everyone Steve knew before then was dead or dying. Bucky was gone. Steve was alone. Neither of them like to think about that time a lot. 

“Watch over him until we get there,” T’Challa orders. Then, gentler, because T’Challa Udaku is nothing if not a good man _and_ a good king, “I promise we will not use force unless necessary. If this is somehow your Steve, we would not want to harm him.”

 _Your Steve._ Bucky almost starts laughing. He feels hysterical, but also strangely somber. Even without T’Challa’s instructions in mind, he would have watched over him. That’s what always does with this man, no matter what crazy circumstances have him brought to his side. 

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Bucky says softly. He and T’Challa are on a first name basis by now, but this moment feels far more serious than acting as they do when they’re merely being friends. 

“Thank you for coming to me with this so quickly, Sergeant Barnes. It’s our greatest duty to keep this country safe.” It’s not even technically Bucky’s country. He’s a guest. But he owes these people his life- far be it from him to not help keep the place that offered him sanctuary safe. 

He nods, and tries not to let Not Steve slip from his sight, even when turning T’Challa’s view back to face him. “Of course.”

The communication cuts after that while T’Challa and the Dora Milaje continue the journey to come and see Not Steve themselves. Bucky knows they’ll most likely be on edge, weapons raised- he’s having trouble not raising his own hackles at the mere thought of seeing someone who might or might not be Steve be threatened, but he has to remind himself he has no real idea who this man is. He might be a threat himself. 

In any case, he knows T’Challa will keep his promise, and even if he wouldn’t- Bucky is here to protect him. Steve. Not Steve. Whoever this is. The real Steve sided against the entire world for him. It’s the least Bucky can do to give his apparent doppelgänger at least a bit of the benefit of the doubt. 

It’s usually about a twenty minute walk for Bucky from the palace to Bucky’s farm. T’Challa and his guards make it here in less than ten, and as Bucky expected, Okoye and the other women already have their spears held up against their sides. Ayo is among them, and Bucky tries not to catch her eye. She _knows_ how much Steve means to him. Everyone who has met them does. 

T’Challa retains more tact than Bucky himself feels able to muster as he makes his way down the his and approaches to where Bucky is crouched next to the crash lander who managed to land said crash right in the middle of his farm. Fate sure is funny. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” he calls, hands tucked behind his back even while everyone else around him stands on edge, ready to turn from defense into offence as soon as the situation shifts. Bucky hopes it doesn’t. He can’t stand seeing someone who even _looks_ like Steve getting hurt. 

Luckily, it doesn’t seem like he’ll have to. Not Steve is still out cold. In fact, his skin is still cold to the touch when Bucky risks leaning down to cup his left hand over the side of his face. The sensors register his skin as slightly below the average temperature, which is a little concerning considering how hot it is outside and how hot Bucky knows his Steve tends to run. 

He’s heard stories before, though. About how when Steve first woke up from the ice, he was cold for months after, hands shaking so bad from it that sometimes he couldn’t even sketch. 

Bucky would really like to know who this man is. 

T’Challa’s sandals enter the edge of his peripheral, and Bucky looks up. The continued touch has him feeling less antsy about taking his eyes away. “Your Majesty,” he says, tipping his head. 

The other man’s lips tilt. Apparently he’s more accepting of the honorific than his sister. “He hasn’t moved?”

Bucky shakes his head and casts a slightly worried glance at the crumpled form below him. He’s still out cold, clothes covered with dirt from the fall and face so slack Bucky could almost mistake him for being asleep. “Not past breathing, and even then…” _Barely,_ he wants to say. He doesn’t have to. 

T’Challa might be king, but he doesn’t show much hesitation in squatting down right by Bucky’s side to take a closer look. Okoye clicks her tongue, presumably at the risk in putting himself in the new position, but T’Challa just waves her off, then waves her closer. “We’ll be taking him to my sister,” he says. Okoye gives him a look that’s closer to a pointed glare. Again, T’Challa waves it off. “We can use a Kimoyo bead to stabilize him into staying in a neutral state. He will pose no danger.”

“Not until he’s awake to try and do something,” Okoya points out, gesturing to Not Steve’s body with her spear while speaking. 

Bucky has to press his mouth into a line so he doesn’t get the urge to put himself between them. Okoye wouldn’t hurt him without reason, he knows, but while it’s still unsure of what this arrival means for her country’s safety… Bucky doesn’t suppose he can blame her, but he doesn’t have to like it. 

T’Challa continues, slipping a bead off of his own wrist to place into the Steve lookalike’s slightly parted mouth. Bucky doesn’t ask how he knows the man won’t swallow it. In Wakanda, he tends to just assume they have the answers to those types of frivolous questions all figured out. “We’ll take him to my sister,” T’Challa repeats. “And then we’ll work from there.”

Bucky hates asking anything from this man after he’s already been given so much from him, but this is a request he can’t keep from making. “I’d like to come with you,” he tells him, voice kept legel. “I can help carry him up there so you all can keep your weapons on hand. I know the real him- whether this is or isn’t an imposter, I think I’ll be able to help.” He’s listing things to convince them, and it’s embarrassingly clear why he is, but he can’t not. If there’s even a chance this is Steve, Bucky has to stay with him. 

He’s prepared to launch into even more reasons about why it’d be a good move to take him up there too, but T’Challa nods after the first round of them and stands back up, apparently already ready to fo. “Come then,” he says. Then, with a faint smile as Bucky stands and starts to tug up Not Steve’s body with him, “You’re sure you can manage him on your own?”

Bucky, who already has the blonde thrown up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes , gives T’Challa a tight smile back. “He’s heavier than he looks, but your sister’s prosthetic is pretty top notch.”

The other man laughs and shakes his head. “Her work always is.” He turns to walk back to his guards with Bucky trailing behind, but turns at the last second to two of the women usually at his side. “I’d like you to stand guard down here. We should wait a while to see if anything else is going to follow our first friend.”

The both of them nod, and send him off with the usual arms crossed over the chest motion Bucky has grown accustomed to seeing. With Steve put over his shoulder like this, he can’t really partake in that, but he nods at them while passing by. 

The trek back up to the palace is painfully long in comparison to how quickly T’Challa and his guards had gotten down there because Bucky has to move a bit slower than usual. He has 243 pounds of super soldier to carry, and even if this Steve is fake, all of his weight isn’t. But about thirty minutes later, they’re entering the gates to the side entrance of the palace, and taking an elevator up to the higher level where Shuri’s lab overlooks the land that spreads out in front. 

Bucky hadn’t actually seen T’Challa send her a message about anything that was happening, but somehow she must know something is going on, because she looks uncharacteristically distressed when she rushes out from behind her usual testing table to see them. 

“Brother,” she says. Then, seeing Bucky and the burden he’s currently bearing over his back, “Bucky. Who is this? what’s going on?” She’s turning back and rushing to grab a tablet that she thrusts up to T'Challa's chest so he can take it and see the schematics on the screen a second later. With the way Not Steve’s body is positioned, she can’t see his face. “My sensors on our shield are showing something strange. A surge in some type of energy.”

Bucky grimaces. “Bet I know what that’s from,” he says under his breath. Shuri swivels to face him, obviously seeking an answer for once from someone else. Bucky doesn’t say anything else, instead walking over to the examination table he usually sits on himself, laying Steve’s unconscious body on top of it as gently as he can. He can hear Shuri behind him already starting to go ninety miles a minute even as he’s still lifting Steve’s legs up onto it. 

“What is Captain Rogers doing here and why does he look like that? How did he get in without his ship showing up on our radar?”

“He didn’t come on a ship,” Bucky says tightly, staring down at where the Kimoyo bead is still resting between perfectly white teeth. “And we don’t actually know if this is really Steve at all.”

That only stresses Shuri out even more, apparently. “ _What?”_

T’Challa, as usual, is the negotiator. He sets a hand on Shuri’s shoulder to help calm her down. “According to Sergeant Barnes, this….” He pauses, looking for the right word. “This stranger stumbled out of some kind of portal. He very clearly resembles Steve from the past.”

Bucky clears his throat and leans against the table, hand once again against the Steve lookalike’s cheek. Checking that he’s real- a real _what,_ Bucky still doesn’t know. “Early 2010s, I’d guess,” he says. “There are a million pictures of him looking like this after the Battle of New York, so if this is an imposter, they’ve picked the wrong time.” _And the wrong man to fool,_ he thinks. He distantly wonders if he should call current Steve just to see if everything is fine. 

But first, they need to make sure everything here is fine. And they can’t do that until someone starts answering questions- someone, he thinks, that needs to be the man on the table. Which is going to require them to wake him up. 

T’Challa’s mind must be on the same track, because he turns to Shuri a moment later. “We need to run a scan on him first and see if there’s anything odd about him, anything off.” He turns to Bucky next. “Then we can question him.”

“Will you have to strap him down?” Bucky asks quietly, hoping to God the answer is no. He knows how horrible that is, and Wakanda might be as far from the Soviets as it can get, but even gentle restraints are restraints. 

T’Challa winces. “We’ll have to see.” That’s not an answer, but it’s better than a lie. 

Bucky jerks out a nod and steps away right as Shuri steps closer to start her work, scanning a device over Not Steve’s body and holding her arm out to show the projected screen that shows the results. 

“He’s human,” she reports . “An exceptionally healthy one at that. But there are traces of matter clearly not meant to be there. I’ll have to run more tests to figure out what they’re from, but they don’t seem to be harming him.”

Bucky hates the idea of any version of Steve having to play science experiment, though he knows anything Shuri will do won’t bring him any harm. Still, he has to suggest something that he thinks could at least give them one answer to what the hell is happening today. “If you run a blood test, the serum will show up, won’t it?” he says, crossing both arms over his chest. “There’s only two people alive who are supposed to have it, and only one of them looks like that. If he has it, he’s the real Steve.” Bucky swallows and boxes up his shoulders. “Or at least some version of him that we’re seeing.”

“Should we inform Captain Rogers and his friends about this?” Shuri is already grabbing a needle from one of her dozens of lab tables, starting the sterilizing process and poking her specimen in the arm after struggling to shove up his sleeves. She takes the vial she inserts the blood inside of to a machine that starts chirping as she talks. 

T’Challa is the one to respond this time. “Not yet.” He shares a look with Bucky that ends with a nod from both sides. “There’s no use in scaring them until we have at least a little of this figured out.” Bucky agrees, though he does feel slightly guilty about leaving Steve out of the loop. “What do the results say?”

Shuri’s machine chirps again, and then puts something on her Kimoyo bead’s screen that Bucky can’t make head nor tail of. Blood results. She scans them, and then nods, affirming verbally after. “This is the same blood as what we took from Captain Rogers when he first arrived here.” That was when Steve and Bucky _both_ had arrived here- Steve with a hell of a concussion and Bucky a bit worse for the wear. 

The same blood means this man has the serum too. The same blood means…. somehow this has to be Steve. From a different time? Different place? Different _universe?_ Bucky doesn’t know. None of them do yet, but if anyone can figure it out, it’ll be Shuri. All Bucky can do for now is stay on the sidelines and let her work. 

But there is one last thing he can do to help out a little more, as he learns not two minutes later when Shuri returns from where Bucky had assumed she was off getting some different device or reading up more results. She’s not done any of that, at least that Bucky can tell. Instead, she’d holding a bundle of clothes that she holds out for Bucky to take.

She also tells him what to do with them. “I can’t properly work with him in those horrible clothes, and _someone_ needs to search him for weapons. He might be Steve, but we should be safe.” She shoots T’Challa a scandalized look. “Do you _ever_ listen to Okoye?”

“Only when she’s right.”

Shuri scowls, then starts walking off again, this time with T’Challa in tow to give Bucky and… _Steve_ some privacy. He can hear them bickering about something when they disappear around the corner and a small smile crosses his face. That’s how he and Becca used to be. 

The clothing Shuri had supplied him with is the same sort of stuff he’d had to wear for his first week or so in Wakanda when he wasn’t yet under cryo. Plain white sweats with a drawstring, a white tank top, a loose fitting black tee, and some socks to go under shoes that are somehow made to fit everyone regardless of size. Bucky’s slightly hesitant about having to strip an unconscious stranger- boundaries are something he’s overly strict about even on his good days- but he knows it has to be done. And if anyone has to do it, it should be him. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen, since this is apparently some real version of Steve. 

He takes in a deep breath and starts the job by taking off the first layer, a leather jacket that looks relatively new. It’s not very broken in yet, but it’s sort of like the one Steve had once worn in the war. Bucky frowns and picks it up, feeling at how stiff it is until he finally gets down to the pockets and realizes there’s something inside. 

It’s a wallet. A one made of brown leather with a shit ton of cash but no cards inside, not even a driver’s license- then again, current Steve didn’t legally learn how to drive until sometime over the last three years. Living on the edge of the law, even when he didn’t have to. Bucky doesn’t know how no one ever thought to pull him over on that damn bike he bought after the ice. 

It’s only when Bucky pulls out the one card that is inside the wallet that he realizes exactly who this man is. Shit. _Shit._ He needs to show Shuri and T’Challa this, but first- he casts a hurried look down on Steve, still dressed on the table and is torn over which to handle first. He settles on the changing. The card can wait a few more minutes. 

Bucky makes sure to try and finish as fast as possible anyways, patting down the pockets of ill-fitting pinstriped pants and the ugliest plaid button up Bucky has ever seen in his life. They’re empty, and for a second, Bucky feels some sort of sadness rise up in him that this Steve had kept so little with him. 

A wallet. Some money. Clothes that don’t even fit right. There’s an undershirt worn under the button up that Bucky has to peel off as well, but past that, some socks, and his underwear, the guy’s got nothing on him. Bucky leaves the underwear, but pushes the rest to the side and starts the process of putting the clean clothes on him, pointedly avoiding staring at the chest and long legs laid out in front of him. He’s unconscious, and no matter what Steve says about screenshots while he’s sleeping, Bucky is not a creep. 

Though his skin _is_ sort of crawling as he calls for T’Challa and Shuri to return to the main room of the lab. “I think I found something.” He doesn’t just think. He _knows,_ but he doesn’t say so until the two siblings have come back out. He holds up the procured card before they’re even five feet away. “Look at this.”

Shuri squints at it. “What am I looking at?”

“An answer to who our mystery man is,” Bucky says, handing the card fully over so they can take a closer look. It’s a SHIELD identification card, the existence of which means this man is from back before 2014 when that particular organization collapsed. Based on the way he’s dressed and the issue date down in the corner… “This _is_ Steve. He’s just from 2011.”

There’s a long stretch of silence as everyone in the room takes that in. The guards are all out in the hallway, so it’s just the three of them, and two of those three are looking at Bucky like he’s crazy. 

He tries to defend himself. “Look, I know I’m not caught up on all the other stuff, but you guys have a magic plant that gave _you_ powers and me and my boyfriend got some shots that basically did the same,” he gestures to T’Challa, then back towards himself. It’s a pretty far stretch on what their enhancements actually have in common, but it gets the point across. “Why is time travel so crazy? I mean, look at him.” The next gesture goes to Steve. “He looks exactly like all the papers show he did back then. He has the serum. He came here in a portal. Look at the ID!”

T’Challa opens his mouth to respond, but Shuri cuts him off before he can. “No more shouting in my lab.” 

Bucky sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry,” he mutters. Shuri sets her own hand on his flesh shoulder, and that’s how he knows it’s okay. 

T’Challa succeeds in speaking this time, quiet where Bucky had been loud. “It’s not impossible, but it’s improbable. Our country not having the technology for something like that before others would be very unusual.” He smiles at Shuri, who is looking smug. “Not to brag about our talent.”

“What if it’s not about technology?” Bucky says, volume at what he hopes is an acceptable level. “Are you telling me you’ve never thought there’s more to what the world has going on than just tech?” He knows the answer is yes. They have. They _do._

Shuri sighs and casts a glare at where the bead still has Steve passed out on the table. “I hate not knowing things,” she mutters. Then, looking at Bucky, “Do you know of any experience he would have with something that might cause an anomaly like this? Before, during, after this time you think he’s from?”

Bucky doesn’t have to think very hard. “The Tesseract,” he answers immediately. There’s no way that they’ve never heard of that. Their scientific knowledge is past even Tony Stark’s own, so he’s sure as shit willing to bet they’re past Howard’s decades old research. “It was on the plane when Steve… went down.” _Crashed it. “_ He was under the water with it.”

“The Tesseract,” Shuri murmurs, snapping into action right after. “I can work with that.” She waves her hand at Bucky, T’Challa, and a still knocked out Steve. “You can take him now. I can look at him again later now that I have somewhere to start.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says genuinely. “I know you’ve already done enough for me, but-“

Shuri groans and shoos him off again, evidently not feeling the need for sentiment in this situation. “Save your thank yous for later, old man. I have to work. Take him and go ask your questions.”

T’Challa chuckles and waits for Bucky to pick up Steve again. “We can go to the examination room. It’s usually used for our doctors performing physicals, but the chairs are much more comfortable than the ones in the dungeon.” He’s joking, clearly. Bucky doesn’t think the palace even has a dungeon. 

He smiles back best he can and follows him through a pointed out doorway, around the corner and across the hall from Shuri’s more spacious lab. The room it leads to is much smaller, but as T’Challa said, has chairs that look comfortable. Bucky doesn’t like chairs very much, but he sets Steve to sit in one anyways and steps back so T’Challa can do the opposite to step forward and remove the Kimoyo bead from inside his mouth. 

No straps. Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief. Steve doesn’t seem to be much of a threat like this, and T’Challa almost always has his Panther necklace on anyways. It’s catches to shine in the light when he returns to stand next to Bucky as they wait for Steve to wake up.

That process is slow going, but the bead must have been doing its job of keeping him under, because five minutes of Bucky fidgeting and T’Challa trying not to do the same, Steve finally stirs and lifts his head up. His eyes are only half open, but Bucky can already see the blue. The color is beautiful, but the owner of said eyes looks so suddenly scared and confused that it makes his heart ache. 

How the hell is he supposed to approach this, even if he is right about where this Steve is from? He doesn’t know if Steve will even recognize him while he looks like this. To him, in his timeline, Bucky is still supposed to be _dead._ He keeps his face down for now. Best not to blindside Steve right away, not with how much he already must be feeling. T’Challa is the first one to try and speak. 

“I would just like to start out by saying we are not attempting to hurt you, Captain Rogers,” he says, voice calm. Bucky doesn’t know how. He’s feeling pretty wild himself. “We did not take you from anywhere or anyone. We did not do anything to bring you here.”

Steve’s shoulders are brought up, thighs flexed tight and eyes darting around to take in his surroundings. There’s nothing too fancy in here to freak him out with what a different time he’s woken up in again, but Bucky can already feel him ready to freak out and do something stupid anyways. He almost looks up, but Steve is talking before he can. 

“Where is here?” he asks, voice deep with the demand to know. “Who are you?” His eyes must flick to Bucky. “Who’s your friend?” He sounds so goddamn scared, so terrified under all the false bravado, that Bucky can’t not give in to the urge to look up and offer him some comfort, or at least a familiar face. 

He looks up, and levels his eyes with Steve’s own. “I was your friend first,” he says roughly. “But if you wanna know who I am… that depends on who you say _you_ are, I’d say.” It’s a shit way of saying _hello,_ but Steve hears it and all the blood looks like it drains from his face. 

Somehow, he looks even more scared, but this time more from _shock_ than fear. Bucky doesn’t blame him. When Steve had stumbled out of that portal, he couldn’t believe it either. He’s still not sure he does. 

“ _Bucky?”_ Steve whispers. His hands are so tight on the arms of the chair, Bucky can hear the word creaking.

There was a time when Steve said his name like that in the street. That time Bucky hadn’t been able to answer, but this time, he _can._ So he does, even as he can feel his heart drop with how much wonder and horror Steve looks at him with while taking in his new appearance. “Yeah, Stevie. It’s me.”

Steve licks his lips, eyes still wide, but he doesn’t protest when Bucky begins inching forward into his space. He lets him, though he looks a little like he can’t breathe. “But… how? How are you _alive?”_ he chokes out. “How are you here?” His eyes flick back up to T’Challa, who Bucky had almost forgotten was there. “How am _I_ here?”

Bucky is now close enough to the chair for Steve to have to tilt his head up to see his face. Bucky remedies that by crouching on the floor, shoulders inches away from Steve’s knees. He’ll be less intimidating like this, he hopes. He’s not one to try and make himself small the way Steve so often is, but he’ll do it if it helps Steve calm down. 

“I know you’ve got questions,” he says softly. “We do too.” He brings his flesh hand carefully up, letting Steve watch him do it until he has it fit over his kneecap and can give it a comforting squeeze. “But I promise you’re okay.” He squeezes again, and looks Steve straight in the eyes so he can see the sincerity inside. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” _Not ever again._ That’s an addition he made to his childhood oath a few years back after he remembered making it in the first place. 

Steve sucks in a breath, and when he eventually unclenches his fingers from the chair- Bucky can see them shaking. He has to close his eyes for a second. That little detail only cements what he was already almost of. 

This is Steve. Steve, somehow sucked up from 2011 where he was already struggling to settle down onto a normal life, now torn out of time _again_ and planted on a different continent in 2017. Six years is better than seventy, but somehow, Steve still looks like he’s sick to his stomach without even knowing the number. Bucky sort of feels the same. 

“I can give you two a moment.” T’Challa speaks up, and Bucky turns his head to look at him. “I’ll go see if my sister needs any help.” With that and a nod from Bucky, he’s out the door, and for the first time in a while for them both, they finally have some privacy together to take in person. 

How long has it been for Steve since the train? Math has never been Bucky’s forte and he doesn’t know what month this Steve is even from. Fuck, Steve doesn’t even know what month it _is._ Bucky should tell him, but his mind is spinning and cluttered up with so many thoughts that it’s hard to find which one should first come out. 

There’s silence surrounding them while he tries to sort it out. There’s just so _much_. So much time they’ve lost. So much pain Bucky doesn’t want to put him through. Eventually, he picks something that seems easier to start with.

“We’re in a place called Wakanda. It’s a country in Africa.” Steve’s brow furrows. The only places he’s probably been so far are America and the countries they marched across while at war in Europe. Bucky hates to tell him that their physical setting is just the beginning. “Steve, I don’t know how else to say this,” he admits.

“Say what?” Steve’s words are barely above a whisper, and when Bucky meets his eyes, he’s sorrier than he’s ever been that he has to say anything at all. 

He says it anyways, because Steve deserves to know. “It’s 2017.”

For almost a minute straight, Steve can’t seem to speak. He looks at Bucky with his eyes large and lips parted, looking so lost that Bucky’s own lips have to press shut tight. Steve looks to the side, then up, then all around the room like he’s trying to see the difference caused by all the time he’s been forced to lose again.

He shakes his head, answer coming out strangled. “ _No,”_ he chokes out. “No, this is all a dream. This is a dream- I’m gonna wake up and you won’t be with me. This isn’t real- it _can’t_ be. I _can’t-_ I can’t, not _again-“_

His chest is heaving like he might actually be sick, so Bucky is quick to grab the trash can from the floor beside him and clatter it next to the chair so Steve can turn and start the process of throwing up in it. Bucky’s seen him do it a million times before back when he was skinny, but none of those times made him feel the way he does now. This is something not even a doctor can make better. Bucky’s not sure he can either, but he still has to try. 

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down Steve’s back- and unfortunately, he’s so caught up in the need to offer Steve comfort that he doesn’t realize which hand he’s using before it’s too late. 

Steve turns back to him after he’s finished, though he looks like he might not be fully done. Bucky quickly realizes why when he speaks. “Bucky,” he croaks. “Buck- what’s happened to your hand?”

Bucky retracts it as quickly as he can, but no matter how fast his reflexes can make him move, Steve’s eyes move quicker. It’s also hard to cover up your metal arm when you’re in a short sleeved shirt. He’s surprised Steve didn’t notice earlier, and even more surprised he didn’t notice the fuck up himself. He blames it on the surreal nature of everything else going on.

But he blames the pain that flashes across Steve’s face on himself. He curls the prosthetic across his stomach as if he could ever hope to hide it and tries to push the old insecurities about Steve being disgusted by the scarring away. _He’s not disgusted,_ he has to remind himself. He’s shocked. The last time Steve saw him he still had both arms and the last remnants of baby fat on his face. 

Still, he’s sure not to touch him with it again. Not for now. “I should be asking you stuff like that too, pal,” he says, touching his flesh hand to the top of Steve’s own. Then, tentatively raising it up to cup Steve’s face like he had when he was still unconscious. “Jesus, honey. What the hell happened to you?”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut as soon as Bucky’s palm makes content, a small sound slipping free like he’s surprised at this hand on him too. How long has it been since he’s been touched? Bucky’s not sure he wants to know. “I don’t know.” The response is painfully honest. “I was just walking home from the gym, then I stepped into an alley for a phone call and there was a flash of light… next thing I know, I’m waking up here.”

Bucky strokes his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “You should know nothing good every happens to you in an alleyway,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat when Steve frowns and looks like he wants to cry. “What date was it when you last remember?”

Steve’s hands are still twitching and Bucky can tell the rest of him wants to as well. “July 19th,” he tells him, switching over eerily easy to the same tone of voice he always uses when in the field. Bucky hates hearing Steve feel the need to use it on him. “It’s… it was 2011.”

Bucky tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Happy late birthday, then.” 

Steve gives his best shot at a smile too, but he’s still so stiff he barely manages to move his face. “When… what month is it here?”

“It’s April,” Bucky informs him, glad Steve has at least stopped having the urge to upchuck. “April 3rd.” He doesn’t say 2017 again. That hadn’t gone over well last time. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve nods. The denial is now nowhere to be seen. Bucky wishes he could tell him this is nothing more than a bad dream- but if it’s real, at least they’re together again, aren’t they? Only the problem is, Bucky and the Steve that belongs in the present day are together too. Bucky’s now sure how to break this type of news over a Skype call, either. 

He’ll have to worry about that later, though, preferably after current Steve wakes up. Right now, they have bigger things to handle, like trying to figure out how past Steve was brought here in the first place, and maybe how to get him back home. Time travel is tricky business. Bucky still can’t believe it’s happening, but here Steve is as proof standing in front of him that it _can_ happen and it _has._ Things today have sort of turned the world upside down. Bucky hasn’t even had _lunch_ yet. 

He thinks he might have a headache soon, but he shakes his hair out if his face and tries to go on anyways. They need to at least sort some of this out. “T’Challa and Shuri think you may have gotten pulled into some kind of portal, but she’s still running some schematics on the scans she took with her sensors while you were out to try and see what registers there.” He tries to have a bedside manner about laying the situation out, but he’s also blunt. Steve deserves the honesty Bucky knows he would be wanting if it were him having to go through this. “I don’t know how this happened, but,” he stands up, keeping his hand on Steve’s face the entire way. “It’s good to see you, Steve, even if we don’t know how you got here.” 

Steve’s smile is slightly more genuine this time, even if it’s small. He stands too, accepting Bucky’s helping hand up and holding on a little too tight before he drops it. Bucky wants to tell him he doesn’t have to, but Steve stops that remark with a response of his own. “It’s real good to see you too, Buck,” he says softly. 

Bucky thinks about hugging him, but puts it off for until after they can talk a little more about the arm. The first priority is Steve himself and figuring out how he got here. So, Bucky gestures towards the door instead. “Shall we?”

Steve looks slightly apprehensive about who might be waiting outside, but his trust in Bucky, even a version who he’s only been awake around for about fifteen minutes, seems to win out in the end. He nods. “Lead the way.”

Something settles in Bucky’s stomach at Steve saying that so surely. He might be uncertain about everything else in this strange experience, but he still knows Bucky is someone he can trust. He walks out of the room, giving Steve’s shoulder a squeeze before he turns. Steve follows along not far behind him, and soon enough, they’re back out in the main room where T’Challa and Shuri are waiting. 

Well, Shuri’s working, but T’Challa is standing on the side watching her. He looks up when Bucky comes back into view and smiles when he sees Steve trailing warily behind him. He’s actually pretty friendly with the present day Steve Rogers thanks to how much they’re both alike, but this Steve is a stranger. 

Bucky decides to try and solve some of the awkwardness with an introduction. “Steve, this is T’Challa, king on Wakanda.” He nudges his flesh shoulder against Steve’s good naturedly. “He’s also sort of my landlord, so be nice.”

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” T’Challa greets, coming closer and offering Steve his hand to shake. Steve takes it and goes through the motion robotically, standing a little closer to Bucky’s side after. T’Challa doesn’t seem to mind, but he does give Bucky a sympathetic glance when Steve turns his gaze briefly to the floor. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

Steve looks up and then at Bucky. “What does he mean by _again?”_ he whispers. T’Challa is polite enough to pretend not to notice. Steve doesn’t know that he has enhanced hearing of his own- he doesn’t even know _Bucky_ has enhanced hearing of his own. 

“You’ve met him before,” Bucky responds quietly as he can. “Or, you will. He’s on our side.” Steve bites his lip, always a tell he’s unsure about something, but still nods. Bucky hopes Shuri doesn’t come on too strongly when he introduces them- Steve’s always been a bit shy in social situations. “This is his sister, Princess Shuri. She’s also the scientist that’s going to help us out.”

Steve looks slightly skeptical over the idea that someone who is clearly not yet seventeen can get him out of this mess, but he eventually just shrugs and tips his head. “Ma’am.”

She makes a face at the name, but doesn’t make him take it back the way she would with Bucky. “Captain Rogers. Can you tell me anything about what happened before your land?”

“My… land?” Steve repeats, looking confused. 

Bucky grimaces. Maybe he should have given him more details about what had happened before he woke up. He tries to give them now. “You sort of just… crashed here about two hours ago,” he says. “I was trying to walk inside down at the farm and you fell out of some weird circle thing.” He gives him a look that’s a little more worried than he’d like to let on. “You were out cold.”

That may have been the wrong choice of words, because now Steve is making a face too. “Cold seems to be somewhat of a motif for me jumping time,” he says bitterly. 

God. It’s only been two months for him since woke up the first time, hasn’t it? Bucky has had longer just to get used to Steve being stuck on the run. He takes in a deep breath and tries to change the subject to something less sensitive- which is hard, because everything about this situation is pretty damn hard to handle. “Who called you before you blanked out?”

Steve’s hunched in on himself now in that way Bucky has always hated to see happen when he’s upset, but Steve at least still has it in him to answer with more details than he had alone with Bucky before. “Nick Fury. Director of SHIELD.”

“Figures,” Bucky mutters. Then, when everyone looks at him. “We don’t have the best track record. I kinda tried to assassinate him.”

Steve’s head swivels to look at him incredulously from the side. “Why would you…” 

Once again, Bucky winces. He’s got a lot of explaining to do to both Steves at some point. “I’ll tell you about it later, yeah?” He probably won’t.

Luckily, Shuri interrupts their conversation before it can continue down a path Bucky would rather not take unless in private. The Winter Soldier’s Greatest Hits aren’t exactly hot gossip material. “Would you mind if I scanned you again now that you’re awake, Captain?” She’s addressing Steve, who stiffens. She must see, because her next words are gentler than Bucky’s heard since the first conversation they had together outside the hut after he woke up. “Nothing invasive. Practically a wave of a wand.” She holds the device in question up as if to demonstrate. “See?”

“Okay,” Steve exhales. He looks at Bucky like he’s silently asking if he’ll stay by his side. Bucky nods. Of course he will. Who else is going to make sure he stays safe? “Where do you need me?”

“On the table over here. If you could lie down, arms flat.”

While Steve fulfills her request, Bucky watches from where he’s standing next to T’Challa, who has moved closer. Today was the first time he’s had to see Steve unconscious since the Potomac, where Bucky had to pull him out of the water. Where he was still half out of his mind and ran off as soon as he was certain Steve hadn’t drowned. Not his best moment, but also not his worst. The _worst_ had just occurred moments before when he let Steve fall into the river in the first place. 

That still haunts him sometimes. Back in Bucharest, almost every nightmare on the nights he slept at all were about Steve and what would have happened if the Soldier completed his mission. Bucky probably wouldn’t have been able to get out of Hydra’s hands at all. 

The Steve Bucky is staring at right now hasn’t been through that yet. He doesn’t even know what _Bucky_ has been through yet, or is still going through back in his timeline. Bucky dreads what he’s going to have to tell him- maybe he won’t need to go into detail about it all, but there are some obvious questions that need to be answered about the arm and what Bucky is doing in Wakanda without him to begin with. 

He wants to savor this while he can- this small slice of time where he can see Steve again without him knowing what he’s done to hurt him and so many others. Maybe Steve today doesn’t see him any differently for it, but he’s still aware. He still _knows_. He knows and he loves Bucky anyways, which is a different sort of special in its own way, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes Bucky wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. 

This Steve isn’t innocent in the conventional sense, not with how much pain he’s already been through, but he’s also not seen everything that Steve Rogers from 2017 has. He’s… different. Younger. Less weathered, but a lot more lonely. Bucky loves both versions equally, loves _every_ version of Steve equally, but it’s definitely a switch being able to see him this way. 

He’s so…. blonde. So clean cut and closed up, even more so than he was in front of people like Stark. It’s a bit jarring. Maybe Bucky didn’t pay attention enough to those stories Natasha told him about when they first met- an entire _year_ after when Steve is from. Christ. 

He only notices that Steve and Shuri are done when Steve rejoins him, flocking to him like one of the baby goats Bucky mentioned to the current Steve on Skype not three hours earlier. What a doozy of a day it’s been. Again- Bucky hasn’t even had _lunch._

It looks like he’ll be getting the chance to soon, though. Shuri is going to make sure of that, from the looks of it. “I’ll need time to look these over with some of the others,” she informs them, tablet in hand that must have Steve’s new results transcribed to it. “You won’t be of much use up here.” She points at him, and then Steve. “Go home. Take him with you and try to relax for the time being.”

T’Challa raises his eyebrows at her tone. “And since when does my little sister give the orders around here?”

She shoves his shoulder playfully. “Since you’re all standing in _my_ lab.”

He rolls his eyes but looks at Bucky a moment later with an expression that says he agrees with her suggestion. “Aneka and Folami will need to be relieved soon, in any case. They can set up a surveillance device so you don’t have to stay on watch at all times, but I think you know it’s best to keep an eye out to be safe.”

Bucky nods grimly. Even in somewhere as safe as Wakanda, the habit of being prepared for a fight isn’t easy to break. “You’ll contact me if there’s any update?”

Shuri scoffs. “No, I’ll do all this work for you and leave you in the dark. _Yes,_ we will contact you. Now go back down to your farm and take a shower or something.” She wrinkles her nose at him. “You smell like a barn.”

Bucky huffs, but puts his right hand on Steve’s back to give him a small push to start heading out as instructed. “I don’t even have a barn.”

“Maybe you should build one!” she calls, but Bucky just shakes his head and chuckles.

Steve is silent as they step out into the hallway that the guards have apparently left empty, hands clutching at his own thighs like he’s missing being able to have them in his pockets. The sweatpants he’s in don’t have any, and white isn’t the best color for a farm. Bucky makes a mental note to offer Steve some of his own. 

Steve’s hands are still pushing at his legs when he piles up, his first attempt this far at initiating a casual conversation. “You have a… farm?” He says the word like it’s a foreign concept. He’s never lived anywhere but the city, so really maybe it is. 

Bucky looks at him sideways and feels his chest go wasm when he sees Steve subconsciously falling into a step that’s in pace with his own. One of those things that the military manages to ingrain a little too deep, Bucky guess. “I do.” They’re approaching the path down to it right now, and when Steve gets his first glimpse at what’s outside, he stops in his tracks and looks like his mind has been blown. 

His mouth is dropped open the same as when Bucky told him what year it is, but he looks more stunned than shocked. Bucky gets it. Wakanda is… something else, especially compared to the Western world and what sights they were used to in the war. It’s beautiful, and though it isn’t where Bucky knows either of them belong in the long run, it’s nice to at least bask in that while they’re able to enjoy it. 

Steve can’t even seem to form words. “You… live here?”

Bucky keeps his hand on the small of Steve’s back, a tiny touch that won’t be too much too soon but also doesn’t let him stray too far. “For now,” he says simply. They can save the heavy talk for down at the hut. Preferably over lunch- Steve looks a little too skinny for Bucky’s liking. “You follow me and you can come see it for yourself.”

“ _Following_ for us used to work the other way around,” Steve murmurs. 

Bucky snorts. That may be true for the field, but outside of that, Bucky’s always had a penchant for telling Steve what to do. Nowadays, _sometimes_ he even listens, even if only under specific circumstances. Steve listens now, eyes still wide and full of wonder as he begins to follow Bucky down the well worn path. It’s midday, so the sun is out and shining brighter than ever. If Steve thinks this is spectacular, he’ll just have to wait to see the sunset. 

If he gets to stay that long. Shuri has a tendency to solve problems fast, but time travel is on an entirely different level than brainwashing. Bucky is also still going to have to call his current Steve at some point, and he’s not sure how long he can let that wait before he starts feeling the weight on it on his conscience. 

Steve’s not a particularly jealous guy, but he can be a little insecure about believing Bucky still wants him- as if Bucky hadn’t waited an entire _lifetime_ to get the chance to love him again while Steve did the same. It stems from going so long feeling unwanted in that way when he was small, Bucky is aware, a bad thought pattern Bucky is still trying to break him out of to this day. Bucky doesn’t know if Steve would considering it anything close to _cheating_ if who Bucky is spending time with is himself, but either way, Bucky owes him honesty. He owes _both_ Steve’s honesty. 

He’ll call him tonight when the Steve currently with him is asleep, Bucky decides. It’ll be during the daytime wherever he, Nat, and Sam are, so he has a pretty good chance of catching him, though this is going to be pretty awkward news to break over the phone. 

_Hey, your doppelgänger that’s actually you from the past dropped out into my lap out of nowhere. You mind if I call him sweet names and treat him like my best guy until we can figure out how to get him home?_

Technically, this Steve is his boyfriend too- they never broke things off during the war, and while Bucky likes to think they never would have, he’s sort of glad in a way that they didn’t ever find out. If Steve had pushed himself into ever marrying Peggy Carter, he might have had to throw himself off of that train voluntarily. Though Steve had admitted to Bucky at one point that he’d never actually managed to make himself try and move on or make time with anyone while Bucky was away. 

_“Felt wrong, I guess,”_ he’d said. _“Like I was admitting I knew you were gonna be gone for good. I didn’t want that, so I didn’t do it.”_

Bucky has a suspicion that that abstinence had been somewhat of a self punishment as well, but he’s never said that. He’s definitely not going to say that now when this version of Steve is still putting himself through it. 

“How about we talk about some of the things you’ve been asking me over some grub?” he says eventually, breaking the silence that’s settled over them during the walk. “I haven’t eaten yet today.”

Steve looks oddly uncomfortable after Bucky says that, but he follows the question up by nodding anyways. “I was on my way home from the gym last I remember, so… I guess I could eat.” He sounds like he’s convincing himself of that even as he says it. 

Bucky frowns. The Steves he knew and know all had or have the appetite of a horse thanks to the serum. “I’ve got stuff for sandwiches. You gonna want more, or…?”

“No,” Steve responds, shaking his head. “A sandwich will be enough. I’m not that hungry.” Then, as they approach the hill where Bucky’s hut is located by, “I’m a bit thirsty, though.” He’s definitely not dressed for the climate, so Bucky isn’t surprised he’s feeling pretty parched. He’s almost completely decked out in clingy cotton. Bucky can see where the sweat spots are starting to show through. 

“I’ve got some cokes,” he assures him, steadying Steve by the shoulder when he almost stumbles down the suddenly steep terrain that his shoes aren’t meant for either. “Some milk, too. Water. Orange juice, I think.”

“Anything you wanna give me is fine by me, Buck,” Steve says, a touch too quiet. “You don’t gotta put yourself out.”

They’re practically at the hut by now, no guards in sight, so Bucky doesn’t hesitate to stop. abe grabs Steve by the shoulder once again, this time for more than just attempting to keep him from falling. “Steve,” he says, final and firm. “No matter what timeline or year you’re from, you’re my best guy. My best _friend.”_ He gives him a careful look, and then decides to throw caution to the wind when grabbing his other shoulder, metal hand resting on a thin layer of cotton that separates it from skin that’s still familiar to the touch. Like this, they’re face to face. “You can’t put me out when I’m inviting you in.”

Steve’s shoulders slump down under Bucky’s fingertips, and he suddenly looks so tired that he also looks like he’s about to cry. Maybe he is. Bucky couldn’t blame him with how much he’s been through today. “You’re sure?”

Bucky smacks him in the side of the head with the heel of his hand the same way he always has. “Positive. Now quit trying to get out of letting me take care of you, punk.”

Steve gives him a smile that wavers a little around the edges. “Jerk. Maybe I just know how bad you are at making meals.”

Snorting, Bucky slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulls him towards the hut’s entrance to usher him in. “That was then. This is now. I think I’ve gotten pretty good.” He purses his lips. “Or better, at least.” Steve laughs at that, and it’s the best sound Bucky has heard in person in weeks. 

They step over the door frame. The curtains and door are all open, so the sunlight is pouring in and giving Steve plenty of opportunity to see what’s inside, how Bucky has been living. It’s different from how it was when Steve found him in Bucharest. It’s comfortable and kept clean. Bucky’s hut might not have much, but he’s proud of what it does. He helped build this place, after all. 

There’s all the kitchen appliances crowded in the rounded off corner opposite of the fireplace where there’s a thatch in the roof that can be pushed open to keep the place from smoking up. Bucky’s bed is bigger than it maybe needs to be even for one that’s sometimes used for two, the headframe made of a piece of driftwood he once hauled back from a trip to the nearby river. There’s a bookshelf next to the door that Bucky drops his Kimoyo bead watch on top of, taking two more steps so he’s standing in the center of the makeshift room and can gesture to make sure Steve sees. 

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

It _is_ humble, but Steve still looks amazed, stepping inside to stand next to Bucky and spin around in a circle to take it all in. “This is where you stay?”

“Well, I technically have a room open to me up at the palace,” he admits. “But I prefer it down here, even if the crickets are a damn nuisance with the noise sometimes.” _And the nightmares._ Bucky has to remind himself Steve is fresh off the ice. The blonde probably has no trouble remembering what being kept awake by them is like. 

Steve has gone quiet again, staring in random spots around the hut that Bucky can’t quite figure out what the focus is on. “I like it,” he ends up saying. “It’s homey.”

 _You’re my home,_ Bucky wants to tell him. _Every version of you. I wasn’t able to find a home until I found you again._

There will be time for that type of talk later, hopefully. First, Bucky has to prepare them some food. Then, they have to talk about the less fun things, like how Bucky wound up here and what happened to his arm. He’ll spare Steve some of the gruesome details- he wouldn’t want to ruin his appetite. 

What he does want to do is get Steve into some different clothes, ones that don’t reek of hospital and bright whiteness that’s painfully out of place. He walks to the dresser standing next to the bed that doubles as a tall version of a nightstand and pulls a tighter fitting pair of cargo pants and a clean pair of underwear just in case. The t-shirt should be fine, but after a second of thinking, Bucky tosses him a new one just to make him feel a little more welcome. He would offer him some different shoes, but he doesn’t have any in his size and Steve from the present hasn’t left any pairs lying around. He smiles a bit ruefully as he hands them to Steve, who looks confused. 

Bucket is quick to clear it up. He doesn’t want Steve feeling more out of place than he already does. “Figured you’d want to change before we eat. I’ve gotta go wash my hands before I can make anything anyways.” 

He’s not really sure why he adds on that second part. Steve naked and changing isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before with how intimately familiar with his body he is by now. He supposes it has something to do with the guilt about not having the chance to talk to the other Steve about what’s going on yet. It just doesn’t feel right, even if having Steve here in any form _does._

Steve’s flushed and looking flustered, but he takes the clothes anyways and doesn’t comment as Bucky heads out the door until Bucky turns to pull the curtains that go over it to act as a screen shut. “Buck?” he says softly. 

Bucky looks at him. He can see his hands trembling again. “What is it, honey?” He name slips again out so natural he barely even notices he’s used it.

“You’re gonna come back,” Steve whispers, and now his voice is trembling too. “Right?” He sounds so small when he says it, smaller than he even did when he was such a size. Bucky hasn’t heard his voice get like this since Sarah died. 

His own voice is hoarse when he replies, a promise bigger than the question Steve is asking. They both know it. Steve is just trying to make sure he won’t be left on his own. He won’t be- Bucky knows better than anyone that Steve has never been good at being alone as he’d like to pretend. “I’m gonna come back.”

There’s a sigh of relief and gold hair that shines in the sun streaming in through the windows as Steve ducks his head down. He doesn’t say anything else. Bucky doesn’t either.

He has a feeling there’s going to be plenty of talking done while they eat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “cliff hangers” no no i call that “tricking you into leaving more comments”.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has a lot of stuff that he’s still trying to take in- starting with what’s around Bucky’s hut and what apparently is now his home. 
> 
> There’s a small, selfish part of Steve that wonders why that home appears to not be with him. He’s scared that he’s found the answer to that when as soon as he sits down, he spots a shirt on Bucky’s pillow that based off of the position and the size, clearly belongs to someone else. 
> 
> Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tags! and new angst.

They don’t speak very much while Bucky busies himself making the promised sandwiches. Steve’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to be doing besides standing around and staring- it figures. Even when by some miracle, he’s brought back to Bucky, he still feels out of place. He’s still out of time. 

But at least he isn’t alone. 

“Peanut butter and honey good?” Bucky asks, his own sandwich looking to be already made and set on a plate beside where he’s still holding a knife. 

There’s an ease with how he does that that Steve doesn’t yet understand- that last Bucky he’d had had been so good with his hands, but he’d also held his silverware like every other barbaric boy they’d known growing up, fist curled around the base like they were using a shovel and not a fork and spoon. Steve had always made fun of him for it- _“Didn’t your Ma bother teaching her son some manners too?”-_ but then when they started eating together in the war, always hurried and always rushed, he’d begun doing it too. Bucky now holds even a butter knife like Steve holds his pencils. Elegantly. Easily.

He also holds it in the only flesh hand he has left. 

Steve clears his throat and tears his gaze away from the knife. “That sounds great,” he says. 

Bucky smiles and starts slathering the slice of bread held by that damn metal arm right away. “You can go sit on the bed, you know. I know it’s not made, but it won’t bite.”

Steve exhales and nods, relieved to have a direction to go in. Sitting he can manage. Everything today has him feeling sort of dizzy anyways. “Okay.” 

The _not speaking_ thing starts after that. Steve doesn’t mind. He has a lot of stuff that he’s still trying to take in- starting with what’s around Bucky’s hut and what apparently is now his home. 

There’s a small, selfish part of Steve that wonders why that home appears to not be with him. He’s scared that he’s found the answer to that when as soon as he sits down, he spots a shirt on Bucky’s pillow that based off of the position and the size, clearly belongs to someone else. 

_Oh._

Bucky had… he’d mentioned Steve is still alive earlier, that he’s even met T’Challa and Shuri enough for them to be some sort of friends. Hadn’t he? Steve has been wondering why that’s the case when he apparently hasn’t been hanging around. There’s a horrible feeling creeping up Steve’s spine. He doesn’t want this to be the explanation for that, but even as he’s trying to push the fear of it away, his eyes are darting around and honing in on every small detail that suggests this hut is a shared home. 

The strange shirt is still on the pillow. There’s a pair of faded pink underwear tossed in the top of the hamper that are definitely not Bucky’s style. He can see a second toothbrush in the cup by a stack of towels on top of the bookshelf. He can also see that Bucky’s bed is clearly one meant for two. 

Steve sinks down onto the mattress and doesn’t want to stop until it swallows him up and he disappears. Logically, he knows he shouldn’t run with so little information about something as serious as this. Bucky hasn’t touched him in many ways beyond his usual tactile behavior when it comes to comfort, but he’d cupped his face, hadn’t he? He’s called Steve _honey_ twice. _Sweetheart_ once. But… Bucky’s always been sort of loose with the names. 

He’s not a two timer. Steve knows that. But what else would he feel the need to do after his maybe ex-lover quite literally dropped from the sky? Bucky’s a good man, a gentle one even if he has the ability to decide not to be. He wouldn’t want Steve to be more put out that he already has been by being _pulled_ out of time yet again. 

There would be pity and him pushing himself to do more than he should. He’s always been willing to do anything to keep Steve from being in pain. 

Bucky’s back is turned to him while he ties up the bread, so Steve lets his eyes squeeze shut and tries to suck in a shaky breath as silently as he can. Sometimes being around Bucky makes the need to be strong and the desire to just _be_ get a little blurry. 

“ _It’s not weak if you’re with me,”_ Bucky had once said, the first time he saw Steve cry and had to hold him through it during the war. It doesn’t feel that way now. Steve is with Bucky, but he’s not sure if Bucky really _wants_ to be with him or if he feels like he _has_ to. Steve doesn’t want Bucky to ever _have_ to do anything for him ever again. 

Look where that got him last time. 

_This isn’t payback, is it?_ It wasn’t. If it was, that’s a debt so deep now that Steve doesn’t know how he’ll ever repay it on his own end. Somehow Bucky has survived, which means he must know that Steve is the one who let him fall off that damn cliff. The sickness Steve’s stomach still has churning from the feeling of falling through that portal… it’s nothing in comparison. It’s vertigo versus Bucky giving his life.

Steve has to keep his eyes closed for another second until he hears the clatter of ceramic that suggests Bucky has just picked up their plates and is about to turn back towards him. He blinks them back open just in time- or maybe, a little too late, because Bucky is looking at him like he’s a little concerned. 

He doesn’t say anything about it out loud, though. Steve’s thankful for it. They need to save the talking about things that are actually important. “There’s a picnic table out back,” Bucky says, handing Steve the plate with his sandwich on it so he can turn to the smallest refrigerator Steve has ever seen and pull out two cans of what Steve recognizes as the new design for Coke. It’s not the same tasting as what they used to drink from a green glass bottle, but it’s okay. It’s nice in that nostalgic sort of way that usually makes his chest hurt. 

It clenches up a little now, right under Bucky’s shirt that he’s wearing, slightly loose around the shoulders where they’ve stretched under the bulk he’s accumulated from doing things Steve’s not yet sure of. But, it looks like he’s about to find out. Bucky leads the way again with Steve standing to follow, this time back outside and around from the front of the hut to where there’s a forest facing from behind. 

Steve stops in his tracks the same way he had done up at the palace upon first seeing Wakanda from the outside. In comparison to how wide the landscape had spread from up there, this is tame in comparison- nothing but some trees and rocks, but so unlike any other view that Steve has ever seen, he can’t help but stare. It’s a far cry from the concrete he’d grown up with in the city. He suddenly has the urge to sketch it, but he’s not sure if he could ever do the wonder he’s feeling justice with mere paper and a pen. 

Bucky doesn’t seem to have the same problem, sliding down onto the picnic table he’s mentioned and pointing to the seat across from him with the metal hand holding his can of coke. Steve wonders how easily he could crush it. “C’mon and sit down, Stevie.”

Steve licks his lips and nods faintly before following Bucky’s instructions. He sits down on the bench and puts his plate in front of him. Across the table in front of him, there’s a hiss as Bucky opens his coke. Then, there’s silence as Bucky apparently works out where they’re going to go. 

Steve, for once in his life, waits. He doesn’t want to make the wrong move here, not when he’s still so uncertain. Not when he seems to be _always_ so uncertain now. He’s supposed to be a captain who leads the charge- but how can he do that when he doesn’t know where that charge is supposed to lead?

Bucky gives him that direction once again, this time by being the first to speak. “So,” he says slowly, so slow that Steve has to pick up his sandwich and take a bite before his hands start to shake with the stress of having nothing to do. Bucky watches him chew, eyes calculating. He doesn’t continue until Steve swallows, stomach still feeling slightly out of sorts. From the trip or his typical nausea, Steve isn’t sure. He’s not sure it matters. Bucky goes on with what he was saying either way. “You have some questions, I’m sure.”

There’s a pause that Steve supposes he’s supposed to fill. “I do,” he answers quietly, eyes drifting up from the table to Bucky’s face. 

Bucky smiles, but it’s half hearted. “I hope I have some answers, then.” There’s another pause, this time one that they both take so they can take the opportunity to think while they try and eat.

Steve doesn’t say this out loud, but Bucky has always been the one with the answers, at least for him. In general, really, though- maybe Sarah had worn it into Steve’s head that it was his duty to always get up from a fight, but that was because she knew more than likely, at least at some point, he would end up on his own. She had been more right about that than Steve thinks she would ever liked to have known. But that knowledge came from the fact that Steve was an only child, and even from a young age, he didn’t always quite fit in. He still doesn’t. 

But Bucky… well, he was the oldest child. The only son. The big brother. Steve’s overprotective best friend. He was older than Steve and always so popular in school that Steve had barely believed it when Bucky decided he wanted to be friends with someone like him at all. When he was sixteen and Bucky kissed him for the first time after they climbed inside from watching the fireworks for the Fourth from the fire escape, that disbelief had done nothing but set in again. It was enough that Bucky wanted to be around him at all- and now he wanted to be _with_ him?

He’d been scared it was a joke at first, or a birthday gift meant to be given out of pity because Bucky knew he hadn’t yet had his first kiss. As usual, his first reaction had been one of self defense, jutting out his chin after Bucky lips left his own and trying not to sound or look as scared as the kiss meant he felt. _“What was that for?”_

Bucky’d only smiled, like the reaction didn’t surprise him at all. _“For you,”_ he’d said. “ _My fella, if that’s what you wanna be.”_ That was what Steve wanted more than anything, even at sixteen, scrawny, and sick. He just wasn’t sure how the hell Bucky _knew_ when Steve had tried so hard to hide it. He’d asked. As usual, Bucky had had the answer. _“We’re two of a kind, aren’t we?” I figured if I was wanting to be yours, you would be wanting to be mine.”_

Steve has been Bucky’s since the moment they met, even now, when the man he sees across from him is more foreign than he is familiar. It _is_ Bucky. Steve has no problem believing that no matter how much he’s changed. He’s just not sure of how they got here- and he’s even less sure of where he’s supposed to belong. _Who_ he’s supposed to belong to. He takes another bite of his sandwich right as Bucky decides to speak again. 

“I just don’t want to overwhelm you,” he murmurs, and Steve almost thinks he’s imagining how he can hear the metal arm whirring until the plates shift visibly and Bucky looks down at them with a wince. “Sorry. Happens when I get worked up sometimes.” He waves his flesh hand. “Shuri says it’s the sensors making sure I’m not doing anything stupid.” He sounds amused, and Steve gives him a small smile. Usually _stupid_ is the word that Bucky would use to describe _him._

Or he used to, anyways. Steve wonders if he’ll say it again. 

He settles on asking something small of Bucky to start with. “I’m getting you worked up?” He says that as lightly as he can manage, but underneath the table, his leg starts bouncing. He wasn’t fishing for pity earlier- he really doesn’t want to put out, let alone _bother_ the man. 

But Bucky shakes his head and gives him the same exasperated look Steve’s been seeing since before he was ten. “That’s not what I mean. It’s just, some of what I know you’ll want to talk about is a little tough.” He finishes draining the Coke from his can and promptly crushes it up into a flat circle with his left hand. 

Well, there’s the answer to at least one question. 

Steve asks another, this time a little more hesitant. “Tough on you or on me?”

Now Bucky looks hesitant too, like he’s trying to keep from hurting Steve’s feelings. That’s also a look Steve is used to, this one usually saved for letting Steve down about the second girl cancelling for their double dates. There are no girls here now. At least, Steve doesn’t think. “On both of us,” Bucky eventually responds. “Neither of us have led easy lives.” 

He reaches his right hand forward and lays it on top of Steve’s own, the touch tethering them together and sinking so deep into Steve’s skin that strangely, he almost wants to moan. Not in that way- Steve hasn’t had the urge for that sort of stuff since before the ice. It’s just been a while since someone has touched him with so much affection, is all. It’s been a while since he’s had someone whose skin he _wants_ on his own. It’s a lot. Luckily, Bucky doesn’t seem to notice just how still Steve has gone. 

He’s still going on with what he was saying. “I know more about what you’ve been through than you’re probably going to want to let on,” he says gently, thumb tracing over when Steve’s hand meets his wrist. Steve worries for a moment that Bucky will be able to tell he punched his hands out so hard earlier, it was almost enough to see bone. He doesn’t want to know if Bucky has found out about that from anyone. That’s a question he won’t ask. Bucky’s thumb continues tracing the same pattern as he pushes forward. “I think that the place I can start out is telling you a little bit about how I lost my arm.”

“You don’t have to.” Steve feels like he has to offer Bucky another out. “I don’t- I don’t need to know, not if you don’t want me to.”

Bucky’s remaining hand squeezes over his own as he huffs out a halfhearted laugh. “You are _always_ trying to give people the chance to back away, you know that?” He fixes Steve with a fond look before he can defend it. “I know you do. And I know you wouldn’t try and make me talk about it if I didn’t want to, but I do.” He squeezes again, and his words soften. “You deserve the truth. People have lied to us both too many times. I won’t be someone who’ll do that to you.”

That sounds slightly ominous, and Steve isn’t sure he wants to know the context. He accepts the rest, though. Bucky has always been an honest man. “Okay,” he exhales. “So…”

Bucky shifts in his chair, a silent _here we go_ movement that almost makes Steve smile until Bucky begins talking. The graveness in his tone is enough to take that urge away. “It was after the train,” he starts evenly, broad shoulders leaning in like he’s trying to make sure Steve is kept as close as possible while he has to hear this. 

The mere mention of the word _train_ is enough to have him crawling out of his skin, and suddenly, stupidly, he wishes they were back inside the hut with Bucky lying on top of him to keep him held down and away from the possibility of ever running off again. 

They stay at the table. Steve doesn’t say he wants to go in. 

“I don’t remember much of what happened during the actual fall,” Bucky admits. “But I don’t really mind losing _that_ particular memory much in the end.” The emphasis on the word _that_ is odd. Steve frowns deeper. “When I woke up, it was gone. Not like I ever saw it again,” he tries to joke, but he quickly sobers up after, and the apprehension Steve feels about what’s coming multiplies by ten. 

He has to interject, words crawling up his throat and coming out choked when he realizes what this story means for them- what this means is Steve didn’t just let him fall. He left him to _die._ He didn’t look, and- oh, God, he wants to be sick again. “You survived?” he whispers. The answer is obvious, and has _been_ obvious since Steve woke up at the palace, but the reality of it being laid out still has him feeling like he’s going to cry. 

Bucky nods and looks concerned, like _he’s_ not the one who should be telling Steve to crawl on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Like he’s not the one Steve abandoned to die without an arm in the Alps under all that snow. “There was no way for you to have known that, Steve,” he says, and it’s so genuine and gentle that the guilt Steve feels only intensifies more. But apparently, this is a conversation that Steve of the future and Bucky have had before. Steve wonders if he’ll ever believe Bucky when he says it isn’t his fault. Bucky says that now. “It wasn’t your fault. Any of it.”

“Any of it?” Steve repeats, small and strangled. “Buck… Buck, what else _is_ there?” He knows his eyes have gone wild, but he can’t help it when he feels so wild himself, so worn down around the edges that he might be finally beginning to crack. “What else was done? _What did I let them do to you?”_ He doesn’t even know who _them_ is, but Bucky doesn’t argue, so there must have been someone. 

“Stevie… _”_ Bucky’s own eyes are pained, and Steve puts the blame of that on himself too. He’s done this. Everything that even happened to Bucky after the train- no wonder he isn’t around. He’s still a coward, only this time without a plane to crash as an excuse. He can’t stay here with that shame on his shoulders.

Maybe Steve shouldn’t stay here either, then. 

He shoves up from the table as fast as he can and begins walking back around to the front of the hut, not knowing where he’s going, but knowing he doesn’t deserve to stay here. No, what he _deserved_ was to stay in the ice. What he deserved was to pay the price of everything he’s made Bucky lose. 

He doesn’t make it far before he hears Bucky start to follow him. Of course he does- that’s what Bucky always does. Follows him into every fight that gets Steve in over his head. Wades his way in to make sure he can help pull Steve close to get him out. Only maybe, this time, Steve doesn’t _want_ to get out. But Bucky Barnes has never been a quitter. For all that his Ma taught him about getting back up, Steve wishes he could say the same. 

“Steve…” Bucky’s calling out to him before Steve even gets halfway to the gate, low and resigned, then louder when he doesn’t listen. “Steve!” It’s the snappy tone of voice Steve is used to hearing when Bucky’s got it in his head to scold him, and Bucky doesn’t hold back from that now. “Steven Grant, I know goddamn well you don’t know where you’re going, so you get _back_ here and listen before I have to pin your ass down.”

Steve spins, and for all that he’s missed the other man, scoffs. It’s easy to fake the persona all the SHIELD agents and stories have shoved upon him. “You wouldn’t,” he says, as harshly as he’s feeling like he should be on himself. 

Bucky’s mouth twists wryly from where he’s still striding closer. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to. But you know I would.” He stops too, and now they’re barely two feet apart with a type of tension between them Steve hasn’t felt since the night after Azzano when Bucky gave him the biggest washing down of his life. The memory of it makes him want to start sobbing, so he clenches his jaw and looks to the side instead, but Bucky doesn’t give him the space to do that for too long. He takes another step forward, and then his hand is back on Steve’s face. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. But you don’t gotta handle this one on your own.”

Steve has been on his own since that damn day on the train, so hearing Bucky say that so soon after he’s come to find he _deserves_ it… “But I should,” he confesses, like some sort of terrible secrets he has to get off his chest before it crushes him. He doesn’t want to have to say it, but if Bucky won’t, Steve will. Bucky said Steve deserves honesty. Bucky deserves that honesty too. “It _is_ my fault. All of it.” 

Bucky closes his eyes and leans their foreheads together, Steve’s hands still hanging awkwardly at his sides where he’s still too shy to settle them on Bucky’s mismatched shoulders. He doesn’t know if that’s something he’s meant to touch. “You don’t even know what _all of it_ is.” Bucky’s so near now that Steve, with his own eyes wide open, can see every new wrinkle and individual hair marking his skin. There are even some silver once sprinkled in there. Steve’s stomach flips at the sight. “Am I gonna have to tell you to stop jumping to conclusions again?”

Steve tries to make a sound somewhere between a huff and a snort, but what ends up coming out is more of a sniff with how his eyes are growing wetter with the closer Bucky gets. Jesus, he’s ridiculous- but it’s been so long. So long to go without what he’s getting now in excess even when he doesn’t deserve it. He’s done _nothing_ to earn this new Bucky’s affections, but here Bucky is offering them anyways. “Yeah, well,” he gets out. “It’s always taken a lot for your lessons to sink in.”

“C’mere, kid.” Bucky laughs out loud after, and then Steve’s entire world gets even brighter when Bucky brings his metal arm around Steve’s back and his flesh hair behind his hair to pull him in for a hug that’s so warm Steve can feel it seeing under every inch of his skin. 

It’s the sort of thing Steve’s been dreaming about for the last six weeks during every night that was kind enough to bring a peaceful sleep. He gasps and goes still, surprise and something akin to adrenaline rushing inside of him at the now unfamiliar feeling of being held. His skin hurt without Bucky, and now, every inch of it is singing so loud at the contact that it almost stings. He doesn’t know what to do for a moment. It’s been so goddamn long since someone has given him a proper hug. Is he meant to go pliant? Hold still? This used to come naturally even after the serum changed his size and meant he had to duck down. It doesn’t now.

But then, as soon as he feels Bucky’s hand stroking circles into the small of the back, it does. His shoulders slump down as soon as he brings his arms up to circle over Bucky’s back, the same sort of clingy way of hugging he’s had since they were children. His chin digs into the right side of Bucky’s neck as he hides his face, holds on tight, and finally starts to cry. It’s cathartic. And kind of embarrassing. He’s twenty seven, not six.

Bucky doesn’t tease him for it though, just holds him tighter and presses Steve’s face further into his neck with the hand still fit in the back of his hair. He shushes him and Steve can feel the sound of it coming from his chest. He holds his breath so he can hear Bucky’s heartbeat doing the same. “Let it out,” Bucky says. Steve can feel his hair sticking into where his beard is pressed against it. “I’ve got you.”

Steve knows Bucky does. He always has. That’s not what has him teary eyed and torn up right now- he knows Bucky has his back now. But why should he, when Steve hadn’t had his when he needed it most? He thought it was hard to live with the guilt when he thought Bucky was dead. What is he supposed to do now that he knows Bucky is alive, but only in a world where Steve is still the one who doesn’t belong?

He doesn’t know what else to do, so he just keeps crying, harder than he has since he woke up from the ice. That need to be strong he was thinking about earlier has faded away far enough for him to fall into Bucky without looking back. 

It’s not weak if he’s with Bucky. He doesn’t have to be strong when he’s just being Steve. 

Those are both things that Bucky said to him time and time again, both before the war and when they found themselves stationed in the thick of it. Steve doesn’t know which time he needed to hear them more, but he sure as hell is glad to remember them now. 

Without Bucky, Steve’s not sure he knows how to _be_ anyone at all. Bucky was the only one who knew him before the serum. He was the only one after who saw Steve only as Steve all in all. And then after the fall… there was no replacing that kind of bond, not when Bucky had his sighs set on Steve down to his soul. 

Even then, Captain America comes easier than being Steve. _Captain America_ wasn’t the one who had lost Bucky on the train. _Captain America_ had completed his mission at the end of the day. It was _Steve_ who was at a loss for the love of his life. _Steve_ who let himself sink down into the sea without trying to stop it. It’s hard to handle no matter who Steve tries to be. 

Now that he’s somehow back with Bucky, all that damn hurt inside he’s feeling doesn’t just magically disappear, especially not now that he knows _he_ was the one who had put him in the situation for it to be done in the first place. He’s found his person again, but still not his place. Half of him has been worried since seeing the hut that Bucky only is willing to share his home because he knows he’s Steve’s only familiar face he has left, 2011, 2017, or otherwise. It’s not a good feeling, thinking you’re an obligation to someone you love. But Steve is used to that by now. He’s also gotten used to feeling like he’s no longer loved at all. 

It’s hard to feel that way when Bucky is still hugging him, though. Steve holds on tighter. He’ll take what he can get as long as he can get it, guilt be damned. If this does all end up being a dream, Steve at least wants to make it a good one. 

They stay in that position for at least the next ten minutes, Steve curled up and crying into Bucky’s body. Steve didn’t bother to check if anyone was watching before he started the waterworks, but he distantly remembers the kink saying something about a surveillance device. He doesn’t see one anywhere, but he suspects it’s probably not tech he would recognize anyways. 

After the tear tracks finally start to dry, Steve pulls himself together enough to realize just how hard he’s clinging. Bucky is also still rubbing his lower back, and briefly, Steve wonders how his wrist hasn’t started to cramp. And then he remembers. Bucky’s left wrist is also now made of unfamiliar tech. He has to hold on for another moment after that. 

Eventually, he starts to pull away, and Bucky must realize because he starts patting his back and preemptively whispering “You’re okay” for another mini breakdown Steve hasn’t even had. He might have one soon, though. With how long and weird this day has been, there’s really no way to tell. At least for these ones, Bucky will be sticking by his side to help him through. That hug has done more than Steve can say he has during the last six weeks he’s spent trying to break out of panic attacks on his own. 

PTSD induced, the doctors at SHIELD had called it. No one actually bothered telling Steve what that’s supposed to mean, though that might be his fault for not reading the pamphlet or going back. But in his defense, reading the files alone had taken enough nerve to get to. Steve was still working up to all the rest before the portal got him zapped. 

Maybe he was right about the whole downfallen hero thing. Being shown everything he could have but doesn’t, everything that he caused to occur, only after it can’t be fixed. Being shown Bucky, living happy and healing, in a home that doesn’t require Steve Rogers to be around. Just like the last time he woke up out of time. Being given everything he once wanted with the object of his real desires forever out of his reach. He supposes if this sort of thing has to happen, this is the better option. At least Bucky is alive. 

Bucky is alive enough to put his arm around Steve’s shoulders and start steering him back towards the hut a second later. The fit of it feels slightly different, and Steve wonders why until he glances to the side and realizes Bucky has gotten taller. Only an inch or so maybe from when they were last together, but… there’s a difference. Steve doesn’t understand why and isn’t sure how to ask. But, Bucky seems to be on the track to answering questions again, so he doesn’t end up having to. 

With Bucky’s direction, they’re heading back out again to the table where Steve can still see his half empty can of coke and the crust of their sandwiches on the plates. “We’ll have to clean up before some creature gets nosy and comes to see about the smell. Can’t leave stuff sitting outside for too long- I learned that lesson the hard way.” He picks up his place. Steve does the same. “You feel up for some more talking when we get inside?”

Steve takes in a deep breath, but nods as determinedly as he can. “Yeah,” he mutters. Then, trying to sound lighter through some self deprecation, “This time I might even not run away.”

“You get lost, you can always be found,” Bucky says easily, already stepping past Steve to head up inside like he suggested. “The universe gave us a pretty decent sense of direction when it comes to each other, I think.” That sounds like a joke. Steve frowns and doesn’t understand, but figures he’s done enough asking for now. He at least owes it to Bucky to listen. It’s the least he can do. 

He’ll try to refrain from running this time. For now, he walks behind Bucky, and then when he gets in the hut, he stands. Bucky sets his plate down and then turns to take Steve’s. “You can take the bed, the chair, anything you see you can sit on. Just gimme a second to get the door so the kids don’t try to come in and I’ll be good to go.”

Steve doesn’t want to sit on the bed again while he’s still uncertain about Bucky sharing it with someone else, so he chooses the chair in front of the fireplace instead. It’s an odd looking thing- wicker with a brown cushion and shape almost like a globe that’s been half hollowed out. Similarly to that comparison, it spins around when Steve goes to sit. It’s a bit wobbly, but convenient to turn around so he can face the bed where Bucky is choosing to sit himself. “Kids?”

 _Please don’t tell me he has a kid._

Bucky hums and nods his head. “They’re the neighborhood menaces, same as we used to be,” he says, grinning. “They like to come watch me because they think I’m weird.”

Steve snorts and tries to grin back too. He thinks it comes out better than the last attempt, but he’s still getting back into practice with that particular expression. “Well, if the shoe fits…”

“Hey,” Bucky warns, but his eyes are crinkling up at the sides. They’ve always done that when he smiles or laughs, but now, the edges lead into crows feet. Steve looks at them for so long, Bucky has to clear his throat to bring his attention back. “So. Answers. Again.”

Steve shifts in his chair to get more comfortable and tries to ignore the urge he has to curl up in a ball to hide inside it. “Yeah,” he echoes faintly. “Again.”

“I know it’s gonna be a lot for you,” Bucky says softly. “Just… if it gets to be too much, tell me and we can slow down.” He shrugs, half of a smile starting to curve on his face. “I can even offer to give you another hug.”

Steve wants that more than anything already, but he has to let Bucky say his piece. He tries to control his breathing. _Everything_ today has been too much. “Okay.”

Bucky begins this time in a voice that’s very close to how he’d talk from Steve’s bedside when he was feeling bad or particularly sick, soft and careful. “When you found me at Azzano, there had been experiments ran on my body that made me survive the fall. Enhancements. No one knew about them because they weren’t as obvious as yours. Not even me.” He bends forward and braces his elbows on his knees, clashing hands clasped between them. “I wasn’t awake for most of them, and when I was, I was pretty out of it.” His voice gets even softer. “Steve, you didn’t have a clue. There was no reason that you should have believed I could still be alive.”

 _I could have looked,_ Steve wants to say. He thinks it would come out as a whisper, but inside it’s a scream. _I could have at least tried to find a body to bury._

He doesn’t say those things. Bucky takes that as the go ahead to go on. “I don’t think I actually would have survived if they hadn’t found me,” he says, still watching Steve cautiously, like he’s waiting for him to crack yet again. 

This time Steve does speak up. It’s only one word, and it comes out so tiny he’s surprised Bucky even hears. Or maybe he isn’t, since Bucky is apparently somewhat enhanced. “They?”

Bucky winces, and Steve knows that whatever the answer is, it isn’t good. “Zola and his men.” He hunches forward even further, mouth set in a grim line. “Hydra.”

If Steve thought that portal made him feel like the world dropped out from under him, he doesn’t know what words he should use to describe the emotions racing through him right now. “Hydra,” he repeats dumbly. This is… this isn’t a dream anymore. This must be a nightmare somehow come to like, only it’s not his. It’s Bucky’s. “Hydra had you,” he says, and it’s almost funny how monotone he can hear himself now. Or maybe that’s just the hysteria. He looks at Bucky, hands held into fists so tight where they’re tucked under his arms that he feels like the knuckles might be able to split back open even without a bag. “How long?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Steve tries again, only this time it’s a plead full of every bit of pain he’s felt while Bucky was gone because Steve let him _go._

“ _How long?”_

“You don’t need the number,” Bucky tries, standing and already taking a step forward, as if he’s preparing to pin Steve down if he tries to run. “It’s not what matters.” Then, he’s crouching in front of Steve’s chair just like he had done up at the palace. “There was _nothing_ you could have done.”

Steve stares down at him. “How long?” he begs. It’s like he can’t say anything else. He’s a broken record. Useless, just like the ones at his apartment, meant for a machine the owner doesn’t know to work. 

Bucky closes his eyes, metal hand moving to sit on Steve’s knee and whirring through the silence that settles between them before he speaks. “I was only awake periodically,” he says haltingly. Steve can tell he doesn't want to say it at all. “The Soldier completed over one hundred missions while you were asleep.” Steve is speechless, and Bucky takes advantage of that, flesh hand fitting to cup his jaw and then move to grip his chin instead, holding him still so he can’t hell but meet Bucky’s gaze. “What’s done is done,” he says. “Don’t try to punish yourself for the past, sweetheart. It’s not your price to pay.”

The words barely register with how hard Steve is reeling. He was under the ice for sixty six years. Sixty six years, all during which Hydra had Bucky captured doing God knows what. Steve doesn’t even know who or what The Soldier _is,_ but it can’t be anything good. 

Bucky keeps saying it isn’t Steve’s fault, but the root of everything that happened to him after seems to be that goddamn day on the train where Steve got them trapped with stakes too high and Bucky was the one who took the fall. What’s done might be done. But that doesn’t change the fact that Steve is the one who let it happen. 

He closes his eyes and doesn’t open them until he feels like he can talk again. “When did you… when did you get free?”

Is he awake back in Steve’s time? Is there something Steve can do if he can go back to help him? Bucky had read enough sci-fi novels to him when they were growing up for him to know trying to change the past is a bad idea, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be going back there in the first place, let alone what being told all this means in terms of changing the timeline of events. But he still has to ask. He still has to _know._

Bucky does give him a number this time. “2014,” he answers, and now both his hands are on Steve’s face, one cold and hard, the other soft and warm. “And you were the one that got me out. Made me remember who I was.”

That’s the first good thing Steve has gotten out of these answers. “How?” he whispers. If he goes back, he doesn’t want to do it wrong. 

But Bucky shakes his head. “You don’t need to know right now. You’ve dealt with enough today.” Steve wants to protest, but Bucky shuts him up with a look and a thumb that presses to the center of his lips to keep him quiet. It’s nicer than his old method of just clapping his whole hand across Steve’s mouth. “How about I show you around the rest of the farm instead?”

Steve is stubborn no matter how worn down he is, but Bucky’s taken a tone he knows better than to argue with, so he doesn’t protest when Bucky stands and pulls Steve up along with him. “You’re really bad at changing the subject, you know.” He doesn’t have much room to talk considering how charming Bucky’s always been, especially in comparison to his own awkwardness, but he’s a little tired of being a downer during all this. Really, he’s just tired in general. 

Bucky just grunts and gives his hair a playful tug where the cowlick in the back is still sticking up from where he’d sweat out the product in it at the gym. Christ. It feels like a lifetime ago- technically it was. “Maybe I just want to show off the fruits of my labor.” He pauses as he gives Steve a gentle push back out the door. “Not literally. Mostly I just load hay and look after the livestock.”

Steve bets that’s part of what has him so bulked up- even before the war, the Bucky he knew (which he guesses is also the Bucky he’s seeing now) was big, but only in the way that growing up in the Depression allowed. He was a boxer and a dock grunt, but they could barely afford to eat every day, which made gaining weight and muscle mass from more than just hard work a bit difficult. During the war… well, Azzano left him kind of lean and a little too wiry, and in comparison to Steve courtesy of the serum, he wasn’t the prize of the pen anymore. 

But now, the difference is back in their size, or at least their builds. Bucky’s legs are thick as tree trunks and his waist twice as wide. His arms- both flesh and fake- are nothing to shy at either. His hair is shaggy and beard thicker than any of the stubble Steve had seen him sporting before, but underneath it all… he’s aged and he’s changed, but Steve can tell he’s the same man where it matters. He’s the same man that Steve still loves, and the same man that Steve once lost. 

_If you get lost, you can always be found,_ Bucky told him. Steve hopes he never has to put that to the test with him again. 

In the meantime, he follows Bucky around on what apparently is his borrowed land. He lives here, and it’s clear it’s only going to be for so long, but he doesn’t say where he’ll be going. Steve wonders where he himself has gone off to. He’s not sure if it would be weird to ask, because he’s not sure what would be worse: Bucky not caring enough to know or Bucky being _glad_ that he’s gone. Steve doesn’t think he could stand that, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s heard today. That would have to be the news about Bucky’s time with Hydra. 

In the present moment, though, Bucky isn’t mourning the same way Steve is. He’s moved past that, it seems, taking his time here to do some healing. He looks happy, gesturing to the fence he says he built himself and going on about some goats he’s apparently supposed to start raising next week. With his hair pulled back and standing in the sun, he’s practically glowing. Steve’s awestruck by it, even more so than he was upon seeing the Wakanda’s landscape for the first time. It’s like he’s looking at a god.

With how Bucky died and came back to life, maybe he is. Steve wonders if that’s how everyone else sees him in this part of the future, then has to wonder if anyone sees him at all. Fury had talked back in his timeline about revealing his return to the public. Steve had gone along with the idea even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want it. He just didn’t have it in him to fight the pressure. The people at SHIELD are all that he knows back there. All that he _has._

Here, he has Bucky. And if what Bucky says is to be believed, Bucky has him, at least for now. Steve doesn’t even want to think about what will happen once Shuri figures out how to send him back home, or back to whatever he has behind him. He doesn’t have it in him for that right now either. 

After a while, Bucky eventually brings their strolling to a stop so they can both lean against the fence he had pointed out previously, close enough for their shoulders to touch while they stare at the horizon laid out over the landscape in front of them. They’re on the far edge of the farm, right where Bucky must have intentionally taken them so they can see the sun set. 

It’s been a long day. 

Steve is so mesmerized by the sight of the lit up hills and warm hue of it all that he barely even notices when Bucky puts his arm around him and guides his head to lay on his shoulder. It’s the soft one, but Steve doesn’t think he would have minded the other side. He sinks as gratefully into the touch as every other one Bucky has given him today, letting out a small sigh that Bucky responds to with a hum. 

“This is my favorite part of being out here,” he says. 

Steve can see why. “It’s beautiful.” He wants to look up at Bucky and call him the same, but the uncertainty from earlier about where their relationship stands remains like a rock in his shoe that he can’t stop to shake out. He doesn’t know how to ask. He wishes he didn’t have to. 

Bucky’s hand carding through his hair for now is enough to tide him over, and what he murmurs out next is enough to take him over the edge. “I don’t know how the hell you got here, kid. But since you are, I’m glad it’s with me.”

Steve doesn’t manage to say anything before he’s turning away from the sun and into Bucky’s body once again instead for a second hug, this time one he initiates himself. “I missed you,” he whispers, muffled into Bucky’s neck as he clutches at both of his shoulders from behind. He can feel what he thinks might be scarring on the left one’s seam and struggles for what seems like the millionth time that day not to cry. “I can’t even tell you how much.”

Bucky’s shushing him and stroking over his hair after that, but then he’s speaking too. “I know, honey,” he murmurs, voice so hoarse Steve can feel the vibrations of it ripple into the hug. “I know.”

Somehow, Steve doesn’t doubt that he does. 

-

It’s nearly dark by the time they actually decide to head back to the hut and make it inside. Bucky makes Steve supper, this time soup heated up over the fire while Steve sits closeby in the chair Bucky bought from the market the other week. Bucky doesn’t mind the proximity, even when he bumps into Steve’s knees a few times while he works. Steve has been cold for long enough. Bucky can keep him warm. He knows what Steve needs. 

It’s sort of handy being so far into the future from him. It means Bucky knows more than the Steve sitting beside him sipping soup from his spoon wants to let on, all thanks to the Steve across the globe having finally gotten to a point where he’s opened up about it. This kid, though… like Bucky said, he’s closed off. He’s cagey. And god, he’s so young- Bucky isn’t thinking about that in a way that makes him feel creepy, but it’s something he can’t help but note. Steve is _twenty seven._ The same age Bucky was when he fell. For Steve, it's only been a few months since he and Bucky both ‘died’. It’s handy having that little leg up, but it’s also heartbreaking to see how much he was hurting when Bucky wasn’t able to be around. 

He looks to be feeling okay now, at least, laughing at the dumb jokes Bucky makes sure to crack during dinner and ducking his head down to look at his feet whenever Bucky says something that’s particularly teasing or calls him a name even the slightest bit sweet. Bucky tries not to lay it on too thick. He still needs to give his own Steve a call, but what the hell is he going to say? It’s just hard to hold back with this different Steve, vulnerable and so very tired of being alone, right in front of him. He needs someone. Bucky knows that someone should be him. 

He just hopes that his Steve feels the same. He should. He knows how this kid is feeling better than anyone, right?

Regardless of Bucky’s internal battling, soon enough, both of their bowls are empty while their stomachs are now full. Steve looks to be so satisfied that he’s sleepy with it, which brings another slightly sticky situation to mind. Bucky has to figure out where they’re going to sleep- _how_ they’re going to sleep. 

He and Steve have shared a bed for most of their lives, so on a surface level, it’s no problem. But bearing in mind that Bucky is yet to call Steve… he’s not sure he feels comfortable getting into bed with another man- even if that man _is_ Steve. It’s complicated. Everything today has been. 

Maybe he can simplify it by getting the damn call over with. It’s not like it’s a hardship getting to talk to him. But first Bucky has to figure out what to do with the _him_ that’s here. 

The Steve that’s here is curled up in the chair, shoes kicked off and one of Bucky’s throw blankets draped over his shoulders. He looks so cozy Bucky almost hates to make him move, but he thinks that with how tired Steve is, the better option is the bed. Even if Bucky may not end up sharing with him. He has a hammock he can string up outside, if need be, but for now… 

“Stevie.” Bucky lays his right hand on Steve’s shoulder, careful to not try and startle him too much from where he’s been nodding off. “Steve. C’mon, how about we get you changed so you can go to bed, yeah?”

Steve looks a little dazed. “Huh?”

“It’s probably past your bedtime, pal. You’ve had a big day.” Bucky turns, already preparing to send him to sleep by pulling out a clean t-shirt and a pair of cotton sleep shorts he rarely wears himself with how he usually chooses to sleep in the buff. It gets warm at night.

He doesn’t think that Steve will want to sleep naked in an unfamiliar environment, so he tosses the clothes into his lap and ruffles his hair before passing by him to grab his rarely used phone from the bookshelf. He hovers by the door while Steve looks down at the clothes he now has in hand.

“You can get in the bed. I’ll be right back.” He holds up his phone. “I have to make a quick call. Won’t be going too far for it.”

Steve nods his head slowly. It’s a testament to how tired he must be if he’s not protesting about putting Bucky out. “Okay.”

Bucky flashes him with a soft smile before stepping out. “I’ll be back in just a sec.” And with that, he shuts the door behind him and his view of Steve starting to shrug off his shirt is gone. 

Now to talk to the other one. 

True to his word, Bucky doesn’t straw too far, choosing to get in the back of the currently empty wagon he usually loads the hay into so he can watch the stars while he waits for his boyfriend to hopefully pick up. He lays back flat on the back and dials the number, putting it on speaker so he can have his hands free to pillow behind his head. 

Steve answers after only a few rings, right on time to what Bucky expected. They don’t usually call. So of course, Steve sounds concerned. “Buck?”

Bucky smiles at the sound of his voice, same as the one he’s heard all day but somehow also different. “Hey, babydoll.”

Steve must be shutting himself in his room again because it takes him a second to respond. “Is everything okay?”

Taking in a deep breath and blowing it out, Bucky has to consider before he can choose what to say. He stares up at the sky while he thinks, eyes settling on what he thinks is Ursa Major. _Great Bear._ Steve had said it looked like him when Bucky first pointed it out during an early visit. “No one is hurt,” he eventually settles on. “But there’s a… situation that I’m not really sure how to explain.”

“What is it?” Steve sounds even more concerned now, so earnest with it it’s kind of cute. Or it would be, if Bucky wasn’t so worried that he’s going to freak out about this news when Bucky isn’t near enough to try and properly calm him down. “You can just say it.”

Bucky sighs and crosses his ankles. “That’s very literally easier said than done in this case.”

“ _Bucky,”_ Steve says, and now he’s complaining. “C’mon.”

“You asked for this,” Bucky warns him. He still has to wait a beat before he can work out what to say. “You remember that book I read to you when you were thirteen about that kid who had that magic watch that could make him travel to different timelines?” Bucky barely remembers it himself, but the title and the ending don’t matter as long as Steve gets the gist of where this is going. 

He must, because his answer comes out slow and so skeptical Bucky is almost insulted. “Yes?”

“And you know how we both have a habit of losing track of time and waking up in places where we’re not supposed to be?”

Steve’s reply comes even slower the second time. “What are you saying?” 

“I think you know.”

There’s a rustling sound that must be Steve shaking his head even though Bucky can’t see him. _Here comes the freak out._ “No. _No._ Tell me you’re fucking kidding, Bucky- tell me you don’t want me to believe that-“

“That I walked down to my hut earlier and saw a portal collapse you from 2011 into a heap on Wakandan soil?” Bucky interrupts. If he sounds like he’s being sarcastic, he isn’t. “I know it sounds like I’m making shit up, but- Jesus, I wouldn’t play around with something like this. You know me better than that.”

For a brief moment, there’s nothing but the sound of Steve breathing coming across the line and mixing with the crickets starting to chirp on Bucky’s own end of the phone. Then, in a distressed tone Bucky almost never hears Steve so openly use, “What are we supposed to do?”

“T’Challa and Shuri are working with the palace science staff to figure out the anomaly and how to send him back home,” Bucky says, voice just as gentle as what he’d used on the Steve inside earlier. “He’s staying with me for now.” He pauses, then sighs again. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Steve responds, but it’s a touch too quiet. 

Bucky sits up then, phone now held in his flesh hand and brought up to be closer to his face, elbows braced on his knees. “I know it’s a stressful situation. I wish I didn’t have to put it on you too, but…” He pulls his ponytail out with his prosthetic and runs the hand through his hair. “I know you know I’d never two time you, but sharing what we share with someone else without you knowing just… didn’t feel right. Even if it _is_ technically you I’d be sharing it with.” Steve is now completely quiet, so Bucky takes it upon himself to continue. “He’s just like you were after the ice, because that’s who he is.”

 _I didn’t know how low you’d get,_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t. That’s not what Steve needs to hear. 

Steve is still breathing a bit heavier than usual, but he manages a whisper that’s so mow Bucky almost misses it. “I needed someone real bad back then, Buck.” That’s something Bucky knows now better than ever, but he’s not sure why Steve is saying it until he goes on. “I know you’d never…” He clears his throat. “I know you’d never step out on me.”

“Never, sweetheart,” Bucky has to interject. 

Steve huffs out in a way that sounds affectionate, but still sounds careful when he speaks. “But I also know how lonely I was when things were like that for me,” he says softly. “I don’t… do you understand what I’m saying?”

Bucky’s not sure he does. “I think I’d rather you lay it out for me so I don’t read this wrong.” He bounces the heel of his boot onto the wooden bed of the wagon and distantly wonders what Steve is doing on the bed inside. Sleeping, hopefully. He doesn’t want both Steves to be stressed at the same time. Dealing with one stressed Steve Rogers is already enough of a handful. Case and point, the conversation Bucky is having right now. 

Steve takes a full minute to respond to that, and when he does, he sounds even more hesitant. “I’m trying to say that I’ll understand anything that happens with… _me_ while I’m there with you,” he says quietly. “I know you love me. You’ve loved me more than once.” That’s true. Whether he was small and skinny or big and tall, clean shaven, stubbly, or even with a beard- Bucky has and will love him through it all. He loved him even when he didn’t have a heart or anything human left in the Soldier’s head. “I love you. And I trust you.”

“To do what?” Bucky has to ask, just to make sure. 

Steve doesn’t even take a beat this time to answer. “To take care of me, Buck.”

Bucky’s heart has done so much aching today it really ought to be sore, but the only thing it’s doing at the present moment is moving its way up his throat. “Oh, honey,” he promises, wishing more than anything he could see Steve’s face to do this proper. “I love you back. And I’m always gonna take care of you.” _No matter time, body, or place._ That’s a promise he’s sworn forever to keep, because Bucky Barnes is nothing if not an honest man when it comes to loving Steve. 

“I know,” Steve answers, soft as a secret. “You always do.” And that’s that. 

They chat for a few minutes after that, mostly because Bucky doesn’t want to end the exchange on such a weird note (even if it is a generally weird situation) but also because he doesn’t often get to catch Steve like this in the mornings when his voice is still a little sleep muzzy and every other word punctuated by a yawn that comes from the satisfaction of a stretch. Even from halfway across the world laying in a wagon, Bucky can picture it perfectly, the image ingrained into his mind with how many mornings with Steve exactly like that that they’ve shared. It’s as sentimental as Steve is sweet. 

Eventually, though, Bucky knows he has to go back inside. If the Steve in there isn’t asleep, he doesn’t want him to worry about what’s taking him so long, so after about ten more minutes he takes the phone off speaker and hds it to his ear while heading back to the hut. 

“I gotta go turn in, okay?” he murmurs. “I’ll call you again as soon as we have things sorted out. Text you before then too.”

Steve sighs on the other end of the line, then laughs when Bucky makes a ridiculous kissing sound into the phone. “I love you, Buck. Night.”

Bucky’s practically at the door, already pulling it open by the time he hangs up. “I love you back, sweetheart. Have a good day, alright? I’ll talk to you soon.” He’s so busy putting his phone back on top of the bookshelf that he almost doesn’t notice how the other Steve is sitting up on the bed and staring at him looking like he’s been stabbed in the back as soon as he steps inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might start posting chapters closer together simply because this is getting longer than i anticipated, but... the more the merrier! that goes for comments too.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve shrugs and steps closer to examine the contents of the shelf. “What is Captain Crunch?” he sounds confused. It’s cute- and a little bit funny. 
> 
> Bucky grins and goes over to grab the box and start pulling out more bowls. He’ll need to do the dishes soon, but that realization doesn’t dampen the delight he’s feeling at the moment. Steve wants Captain Crunch, out of all the cereal Bucky has? So be it. “One bowl of Captain Crunch coming up, sweet cheeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is going to end up being eight chapters, so you get a double dose today.

When Bucky finally does notice, he blinks. “You’re still awake.”

Steve looks as tired as he had earlier, bags looking almost like bruises under his eyes. Fhe blankets are bunched around his waist where he’s sleeping on what’s usually Bucky’s side of the bed. “Who were you talking to?” The question is clearly meant to be casual, but there’s something about how panicked Steve looks that makes Bucky feel like he’s being accused. Of what, he doesn’t know. 

“What?”

Steve’s shoulders are squared up and stiff, even as he’s forcing what Bucky assumes is meant to be a sad excuse of a smile on his face. The way his voice sounds is no better. It’s downright unnatural. “Who’s the lucky gal? Or guy, I guess, if that’s still your speed.” Bucky thinks those words were meant to come out good natured, but there doesn’t look to be anything good about how Steve is feeling right now at all. 

Truth be told, Bucky is at a bit of a loss. Steve was relatively okay when he left. What happened after that has him looking so hurt? And why is he asking if Bucky is-  _ Oh.  _ It clicks together. They’ve both always kind of been idiots, but when it comes to this sort of stuff, especially Steve. Bucky should have seen this coming. Hell, it should have been  _ expected  _ with how Bucky has been holding him, but only at a bit of an arm’s length away.

Bucky kicks off his boots before walking over and sitting on the bed, positioning himself right where Steve can be sitting beside him. “You really wanna know who I was on the phone with?”

Steve looks uncertain about that, but he still nods while wearing that awful smile. Bucky hopes he can put a real one back on his face. “I guess your love life is part of us catching up.”

_ Idiot.  _ Bucky has half the mind to smack him and then kiss it better just to show him the truth, but first he has to fix this with words.  _ Then _ actions. “Well,” he drawls, giving Steve an amused look. “Since my love life is still pretty much limited to  _ you,  _ I’d say we’re practically already on the same page.” Steve gapes at him and goes still. Bucky rolls his eyes and really does have to smack him for that, settling on a compromise and doing it with a kiss laid on top of his temple. “You really thought I’d ever let a pretty thing like you go?”

Same as with the Steve on the phone, this Steve is so earnest that it’s almost cute. Or it would be, if the relief that spreads across his face wasn’t so heartbreakingly palpable. This is something he’s been caught up in his head about, and Bucky had barely noticed. He tries not to beat himself up about it too much- after all, there have been a lot of other things they bad to get to first today. 

That still doesn’t make the weak protest Steve tries to offer up any easier to hear, not when he sounds so hopeful and hesitant both. “I know that it’s weird having me back around, even if it’s just for…just for right now, but,” he clears his throat, but his voice still sounds rough. “Like I said, Buck, you don’t gotta put yourself out just for me.” He smiles again, and it’s so wobbly it’s even worse than before. “After all, you’ve known me for less than a day.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky says, unable to hold it back. He fixes his eyes on Steve’s face, stoic and still and so goddamn  _ sad _ he can’t let it rest like that for any longer. “I’ve known you my entire damn life. Don’t try and back out of it now.”

Even while upset, Steve’s stubbornness remains. “I’m not trying to!” he insists, glaring right back into Bucky’s even gaze. “But I also don’t see me from the future exactly walking around, so unless I’m  _ dead _ or something, what else am I supposed to think besides maybe you wanted me to walk  _ away? _ ” Before Bucky can smack some more sense into him, he’s shaking his head and drawing up his shoulders, glare faded in favor of sweeping his eyes around the hut, followed by a sweep of his hand. “I see all the stuff you have lying around that’s clearly someone else’s. I’m not blind. Or deaf.” He scoffs, a sorry excuse of a laugh. “Not anymore.”

Bucky sighs and tries to grab Steve by the shoulders to turn him so they’re face to face, but they’re so hunched up that he can’t. “Sweetheart-“

“I ruined your life, Buck,” Steve says, devastatingly small. “I’m not gonna blame you for wanting to live the rest of it with someone else.”

That hits Bucky harder than a knife to the gut ever has. Steve thinks… he’s so damn guilty that he’s willing to force himself to be alone. Again. Even though he  _ knows _ how awful it is.  _ Bucky _ knows how awful it is. He also knows that Steve Rogers, for all that he’s good at, absolutely sucks at being on his own. He’s useless alone. Gets lost in that head of his until he can’t find his own way out. The last few times Bucky had to leave him alone… well, there’s a reason he wishes Steve would stay with him now. Neither of them have the best track record of what they do when not with the other. 

The Steve that’s with him now is living proof of that. Bucky can’t hardly make heads nor tails of what he’s saying when he’s going so fast. “I don’t- you don’t have to try and keep the truth from me about this. I shouldn’t be here in the first place, let alone in your bed, in your clothes, in your damn  _ home- _ “ He stops suddenly and his breathing is just as heavy as what Bucky had just heard on the phone. Then, in the same tiny voice as before, “If there’s another person, you can just tell me.”

Bucky hates just about everything that’s just come out of the younger man’s mouth. He is Bucky’s home no matter what times they’re from- in Bucky’s bed is where Steve belongs. With  _ Bucky _ is where he belongs. Why can’t Steve just let himself hear that?

The best remedy for a situation like this when it comes to Steve, Bucky has found, is honesty. Telling the truth as blunt as he can. It’s what he’d had to do after the first time they kissed, and now, he’s going to do it again. He lets himself sound exasperated when he says it so he can get across just how ridiculous Steve’s conviction is that Bucky wouldn’t want him around. He shifts on the bed so that they’re sitting even closer and grips him by the chin like he’d done earlier. It’s always his go to move when he doesn’t want Steve getting too deep into his own head. 

“Steve,” he sighs, honest as he’s ever been. “Honey. That person is  _ you.”  _ He moves forward so that he’s right in his space, foreheads leaned together. Steve doesn’t try to pull away, so Bucky presses on. “It’s always been you. Always gonna  _ be _ you.”

Steve is very still yet again, lips barely moving when he speaks. “Then where am I?” he whispers dully, like he still doesn’t believe. “Why am I not with you?”

Bucky wishes he had a good answer to that himself, but Steve doesn’t need another one of Bucky’s troubles to try and take blame for. “You come home to me when you can,” he tells him after taking a second to think of what to say. It’s the truth, one he’s been holding on to as tightly as  _ he _ can. “You never get any less stubborn, you know.” He shakes Steve’s chin in a playfully chastising gesture, then removes his hand to clap it over one clean shaven side of his face. “Still have it in you that you’re convinced you need to always save the world.” 

He says that, but really, he thinks that Steve now looks so tired that maybe the world needs to start saving him. Bucky will be the one who helps that begin. He tries first by nudging their mouths closer together, the phone call he had with the current Steve still fresh on his mind. 

_ I trust you, _ he’d said.  _ To take care of me.  _

Bucky will be damned if he doesn’t do that now. And it’s with that vow in mind that he finally makes the move he’s been wanting to since Steve woke up in the palace, pressing their mouths together and kissing the younger man with all the passion he’s sure Steve has been left wanting for since he woke up from the war. Steve sinks into it with a broken sound that Bucky wants to make sure Steve will never have to make over him ever again. The next noise Steve makes is better- a breathy little sigh that Bucky breathes in, both hands sinking into all that middle parted hair so he can roll Steve back onto the pillow and set about sighing himself. 

It’s a heady kiss- how can it not be when it’s the first one that they’ve shared on Steve’s end since the fall?- but it’s not one Bucky wants to let get carried away, not quite yet. It’s been… a day. And he doesn’t think Steve needs to get too hot under the collar right now. Based off of now his fingers are trembling where they’re tangled into Bucky’s own hair, he thinks that what Steve needs is to be held. Far be it from Bucky to not be the one to hold him. 

When he pulls back, he makes sure to keep his hands in place so Steve knows he’s not trying to push him away completely. “Do you understand now?” he asks lowly, eyes level with Steve’s own where they’ve gone wide and almost worshipful, almost as shiny as his now slack mouth is from the kiss. 

“Yeah,” Steve gets out wetly, and then he’s burying his face in Bucky’s neck to hide his face when he goes on, words a faint whisper into the seam of where metal meets skin under Bucky’s shirt. “I think I do.” 

He’s quiet after that and so is Bucky, spending the next few minutes in silence to soak up this moment that they’re by some miracle both in. Bucky closes his eyes and listens to Steve’s breathing evening out, metal hand once again moving down to rub small circles into the small of his back. It’s his secret soft spot. Always gets him sweet to the touch- it still works now, based off of how he exhales shakily into Bucky’s frayed shirt sleeve. 

Speaking of Bucky’s shirt, he really needs to set about getting changed so he can join Steve in the bed now that he’s sure they can comfortably share it. He pats Steve on the back and breathes out a quiet “ _ you’re okay”  _ as he retracts. Steve  _ looks _ okay when he lets go, at least. A bit overwhelmed and exhausted, but that’s pretty justified with what they’d been through today. Bucky wonders how well they’re both going to sleep, but first he actually has to get ready to do that. He brushes Steve’s bangs out of his face. “You mind if I get changed?”

Steve leans into the touch like a puppy searching for pets, but nods and ends up being the one to move away to lay back against the pillows. “You gonna try and make me close my eyes?” He sounds like he’s trying tentatively to tease. 

Bucky laughs and leans down just to kiss his forehead and then flick at his nose. “You wanna take a peep at the goods, go right ahead.” Then, sobering up slightly, “You can let yourself be shocked by what you see. I won’t be offended.” That’s not technically a lie. He won’t be  _ offended,  _ just maybe a little less secure than he usually would like to be. But this is a first time for Steve, he has to tell himself, yet another Bucky is going to take- this time, because it’s  _ about _ Bucky himself. 

The scarring surrounding the arm isn’t anything to shy at, and while he suspects maybe Steve had felt some of it under the layers of his shirt when they hugged, he hadn’t said or asked anything telling. Bucky’s body and what it’s been taken through isn’t something he’s ashamed of, not anymore. Bucky just… he wants to prepare for it to be a shock for Steve. It seems only fair that he’s duly warned. Steve frowns slightly, furrow between his brows showing up, but he nods. Bucky sort of always wants to smooth that divot out with his thumb. 

He doesn’t do that right now, instead opting to slide off the bed and towards the hamper on the opposite side of the room so he can start to peel off his socks and then the top layer of his shirt. He hesitates on what to remove next- the pants or the shirt. 

Steve speaking from the bed brings him his answer. He’s laying sideways now, curled up with the covers over his shoulders and a small smile playing on his face. “You know, we once saw a guy peel all the skin of his face off,” he points out, eyes flicking down to Bucky’s waist, then back up with an expression Bucky can only describe as wanting. Wanting what, Bucky doesn’t have to ask. He knows. He feels the same way. “I don’t think a couple of marks on the body of the man I love are gonna scare me.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head, but takes the hem of his shirt in hand even as he responds. “You don’t know what there is to see, Steve,” he murmurs, the memory of the first time the other Steve saw him do this, saw all the scars in person instead of in the photos of a file. They’d both practically been paralyzed with what they were feeling on both ends. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t intend for that to come across as bitter as it does, but something shutters across Steve’s face at it that makes Bucky sigh and scrub his hand over his face, the sound of his beard rasping against his palm so loud compared to the stiff silence that Steve must be able to hear it from the bed. “Sorry.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge the apology past pressing his lips together. Then, after a moment that he spends with them in a tight line, they part. “So show me.” He sits up again, and Bucky wonders if they’ll ever actually get to sleep. “I want to see,” he says, hushed and hopeful. There’s hesitance there too, but the other parts of his tone win out in the end. “Please.”

He sounds so genuine with his wanting that Bucky doesn’t know what else to do but give in. He wants this too, but he also knows how hard this is going to be for Steve to take in. Steve blames himself for Bucky’s problems already. Bucky doesn’t want his body to be the burden that bears him the proof. He has hesitance too, but same as with Steve, the hope and the urge to be honest win out in the end when he finally bites the bullet and strips off the black tank to expose to remnants of where he’d once been hurt. 

The marks only cover the left side of his body. There’s less on his back than there is on his chest- which he supposes is because they did most of their work with him facing up at the ceiling to keep on the mask pumping out gas that left him sedated. Somehow, he doubts Steve wants to know that. Or maybe he does, because causing himself pain has always been his form of self punishment. He thinks Bucky doesn’t know about the bad boxing habits yet, but Bucky is well aware, he just doesn’t know what to say. And in any case, Steve doesn’t have a bag. Not here, at least. 

The scarring is still red in color despite the slightly higher healing capacity his enhancements have given him. They  _ are _ healed- they don’t hurt, but they’re still raised and sometimes when it rains, Bucky can almost imagine them giving way to an ache of where his arm is supposed to be. With the prosthetic, that’s gotten somewhat better, but not even Shuri could get rid of the scars. Bucky doesn’t think he’d want her to anyways- they’re a testament, in a way. Attesting to everything he’s had to come back from, how he might carry the marks, but the man he is today is self made. 

There had been a time a few months ago where Steve asked to paint him one day. Not just him- the arm. He wanted to put it all on paper so Bucky could see how Steve saw him, and hopefully begin to see that part of himself the same way. It had been sweet, though a little difficult to get through. Bucky isn’t a very still person anymore. As soon as the painting was done, he’d hauled Steve up on his lap to join him where he’d made Bucky pose on the bed and didn’t let him out until the damn paint was dry. He’d made Steve see  _ stars _ that day _.  _ Afterwards, when Steve showed him the painting, he’d made Bucky see himself. 

The painting is in his room at the palace now. He would have preferred to keep it closeby, but he’d prefer to keep it from being damaged even more. He’s wonder if the Steve with him now will want to draw him too, but finding that out will require Bucky to actually look at his face now that he can finally see the scarring. 

He takes a deep breath and risks a glance to where Steve is still sitting up, now ramrod straight with his mouth agape. The surprise that Bucky expected is there. The shock. There’s even something he thinks is pain, but… the surprise reflects back on Bucky’s own expression when the pity he’d predicted would make a show isn’t there. Neither is the disgust. Instead, all there is is a hitch in Steve's breath and his eyes falling shut as he tries to keep yet another round of tears from falling down his face. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment, busying himself with putting on a clean sleep shirt to replace the tank. Steve is actually the one to say something first, which is another surprise. The last time Bucky had gone through this, that Steve hadn’t been able to form new words. 

“Did it hurt?” he whispers.

Bucky closes his eyes and turns away to fumble with the putton of his pants to pull those off next. “No more than the rest did.” He doesn’t elaborate. There’s nothing else to say until he turns back to the bed and begins walking over. It’s getting late, and today has been long enough, so he tries to lighten the mood when he climbs up, Steve not commenting on his lack of pants but definitely having noticed with how he’s turned that color. “You know, you usually take the other side,” Bucky says, taking the other Steve’s shirt from the pillow and putting it on top of the dresser instead. He doesn’t want him too far away, even if a different  _ him _ is in bed beside Bucky already. He settles down under the blankets in what is usually that Steve’s side of the bed. 

The Steve next to him frowns. “That one’s that mine?” He sounds surprised, and Bucky has to smack him again as he leans up to turn off the light. “ _ Bucky.” _

“Stevie,” Bucky mimics back. He lays down and rolls on his side to fix Steve with an exasperated look. “Did nothing I said earlier sink into that thick skull of yours?” He reaches out and flicks him right in the bump on his nose, still slightly smug it’s still there. Steve flushes, but doesn’t bat at the touch the way he usually would. He can’t, Bucky realizes. Not with how bad he craves it. He softens after that and makes the move to reach out and cuddle Steve closer, not caring about which side of the bed they’re on as long as they’re both lying in it. But to answer Steve’s question…“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth to make it smile up slightly. “It’s yours.”

“I’m yours, too.” Steve looks up from where he’s now curled in both of Bucky’s arms. “I’m yours,” he repeats, like a reassurance that will help him believe it again. 

Bucky will make a believer of him yet. “Always have been,” he promises. Then, leaning down to kiss him again, “Always will be.” Past, present, or future. 

If there were any questions left about whether or not this Steve is someone real or an imposter, there no longer are. When Steve sighs and shifts where he lays to tuck his nose in Bucky’s neck, it feels exactly the same, and that’s something not even magic could manage to replicate. Not when it comes to them. 

“Goodnight,” Steve murmurs, lips pressed into Bucky’s skin and arms folded up to grip the shirt covering his chest. Like he’s trying to make sure Bucky doesn’t disappear. 

What was it Steve said earlier at the palace?  _ This is all a dream. I’m going to wake up and you won’t be with me.  _ Did he dream of Bucky back after the ice like Bucky dreamed of him before Bucharest? Of Bucky falling down through the snow like Bucky dreamed of him falling to the river? Or does he dream of what it’s like the drown, the same Bucky dreams about what it felt like when they fried his brains out?

_ Don’t try to punish yourself for the past,  _ Bucky had told him. Now, he has to tell that same thing to himself. He’s always wondered if maybe Steve would have been better off without him, and now that he’s getting a front row seat’s show… he’s not sure he likes what measure the universe made Steve take to let Bucky know. The answer is  _ no _ , but for that question, it had been Bucky who has always had trouble with belief. But now… he’s never Steve seen so low. So tired. So alone. 

He’s not alone now, at least, not with Bucky’s arms around him. He’s holding him down just as hard as Steve is holding  _ on.  _

Bucky kisses his hair and murmurs into his scalp, already half asleep with the warmth of another body back against him. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” That’s a promise he can keep. “I love you.”

Steve’s breathing is already sleepy slow, but it hitches when he hears him say those words out loud. Bucky knows it’s because he hasn’t heard them since before they went out in that goddamn snow. His voice is shy, but sure when he says it in return, words coming out faint but still feeling familiar. “I love you back.”

Bucky smiles with his eyes shut and smooths his hand through Steve’s hair, thinking to himself that tomorrow they should probably take baths before they go to the palace and give Shuri a heart attack with how they smell. He wants to show this Steve his waterfall spot as well. All that can wait for tomorrow, though. For tonight- “Goodnight to you too.”

And with that, they sleep, and Bucky ends what has possibly been the longest day of his life. 

-

When they wake, it’s with the sun- a fact that’s on Bucky for being the one who forgot to shut the curtains. There are only three windows in the hut, so it’s not  _ too _ bright, but the one that always faces the sunrise acts sort of as Bucky’s alarm clock for his chores, which don’t actually amount to much- checking the gates and seeing if there are any new loads of hay for him are the main two- but the mere thought of them still rouses him this morning with a groan that he probably shouldn’t let get as loud as it does. 

Steve, who has per usual rolled off of him sometime during the night, thankfully doesn’t stir, too busy hugging the pillow to his chest with his lower half tangled under the covers. Bucky’s glad- the guy could use some sleep, even if Bucky doesn’t have the world’s softest bed. At least it’s one where they can both be in it.

Briefly, he thinks about getting up, but then remembers his promise about being here when Steve wakes up. Well, it’s not a hardship to skip the chores to stay in bed with a buxom blonde, especially not when that blonde is Steve looking as sweet as he does while sleeping. There are worse ways to spend the morning. A  _ lot _ of worse ways. 

Bucky settles on lounging back instead, metal hand combing through the hair on his head while the flesh one fits under his shirt and does the same with his chest. He fiddles with both for a second, trying not to frown where he can feel it go spotty on the scarred skin of his left pec. It never grew back properly in some areas, but it’s just another thing he’s come mostly not to mind. Steve usually doesn’t mind, with how often he plants his face down into it. 

The Steve currently next to Bucky ends up doing something similar when he rolls over, snuffling in his sleep and snuggling right back up to Bucky’s side like he’s searching for heat. With the nightmares he used to have about the ice, he probably is. Bucky has to lean his head further back and close his eyes when he remembers that for this kid, it’s barely been a matter of months since the freeze. 

He’s not really a kid, but when Bucky looks at him, all he sees is a Steve that something in him is even more desperate than usual to protect. He always feels that urge with this man, but… this Steve is twenty-seven. He’s the same age as Bucky was during the fall. And passed out like this, unaware of what the world wants to take from him during the day, he looks young. He doesn’t carry that slight sadness he does when he’s awake. That sadness Bucky sees even when he smiles. He doesn’t ever tell Steve that’s why he sometimes likes to watch over him while he sleeps. 

He does that with this Steve now, smiling down at him softly. His hair gets so fluffed up with sleep at this length that he resembles a dandelion more than he does a real one, the same kind Bucky used to pick where they grew in cracks on the sidewalk to try and shove the seeded ones into his face to make him sneeze from something other than sickness. The flowers in Wakanda are definitely prettier, but Bucky sort of misses the dandelions. They were charming in a way of their own. 

What’s charming now is the way Steve sounds when he finally starts to stir, mouth smacking open into a yawn while the rest of him stretches the way one’s body can after a night of well earned rest. If anyone has earned the right to rest, it’s Steve. 

He’s awake now, though, or at least getting there by the time he finally opens up his eyes and tries to blink the sleep away to stare up at Bucky from where he’s not flat on his back with his pillow pushed to the side. Bucky props himself up on an elbow and smiles down at him again, eyes crinkling up when Steve’s do the same as he yawns yet again. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Bucky murmurs, moving a piece of hair off of Steve’s forehead with a gentle hand. “Sleep good?”

“Better than I have in a while,” Steve says, voice rough and a little raspy. He blinks again, then uses the heel of his own hand to rub at his eyes, back arching into it as he stretches a second time. “You’ve got a nice bed.”

“Yeah?” Bucky hums, carding through his hair again. “It’s even nicer when I’ve got a certain someone with me in it.” He leans down to kiss his forehead, then decides to go for the lips instead. 

The phone call from last night replays in his mind. The Steve on the other end of that call had been strangely calm about all this- almost  _ too _ calm, calm enough to make Bucky want to send him a text just to make sure this is all really okay and that he won’t be jealous of the idea of Buck being sweet on someone else. That someone is technically  _ him,  _ but it’s a weird situation. Bucky is just a little worried that he’s going to step on someone’s toes- and either way, it’ll end up being Steve’s. 

The Steve he’s more accustomed to being with like this is aware better than anyone of what it was like for him back then, though. He knows how starved for affection and touch he was, how tired, how alone. He knows what he would have needed better than Bucky does, and the fact that one conversation was all that it took to admit it… Steve trusts Bucky with him like this. It’s the only thing Bucky can do to trust him back now that he’s said it’s okay. 

So, he kisses the Steve that’s currently in his bed a little harder, heart so full of love for both versions of him that he almost can’t contain it. And maybe he doesn’t have to- Steve needs so much right now, so why shouldn’t Bucky let it out? He doesn’t know how much time they’ll have left together- him being here at all is a miracle and mystery both still. So, Bucky figures. They might as well seize the day- and as much as he’d like to stay in bed, they really should at least take a bath before they do anything that will get them more dirty. Bucky means that for the stuff they can do outside the hut, mostly- living on a farm isn’t exactly always clean. 

It’s with that thought in mind that he separates his lips from Steve’s, huffing at the sad sound of loss it pulls from where he’s still lying underneath with the upper half of Bucky’s body now blanketing him on top. “Slow down, tiger,” he teases. “If you’ve got an appetite, how’s about we find something to eat?”

Steve, now slick lipped and half lidded, looks hungry for a little more than just breakfast. Bucky tries not to think about how starved for it the younger man had let himself become just because Bucky was away. Any sort of touch, any sort of affection… He used to complain about Bucky always laying that sort of thing on too thick all the time. Bucky doubts he’ll hear those sorts of complaints now. 

Case and point, the docile way Steve nods his head now. It’s a little strange seeing him so willing, but it’s also sweet, even if Bucky doesn’t like what he knows is the cause. Steve is willing to do anything to keep Bucky from trying to leave. Like Bucky would ever want to again. “You gonna make me a farm fresh breakfast?” he jokes. 

Bucky snorts and rolls back to his side of the mattress, going through the motions of his own stretch so he can slide out of bed and begin the two step walk to his makeshift kitchen. “I mean, I could go ask the neighbor for some eggs if you want an omelette, but I’m more stocked up on Cheerios than I am on anything organic.” He pauses and shoots Steve a sly look. “Although I do have something you could try fresh from the source…” He makes a show of winking while turning to put on some pants. 

It might be gross to keep the same underwear on from yesterday for so long, but there’ll be time for clean clothes once they hit the waterfall if they end up doing what Bucky wants. Some breakfast, a dip in the water, maybe another walk- Bucky could even take him to town, if they have time. 

Steve groans and throws his forearm over his face so he can hide behind it. “You haven’t gotten any less awful,” he informs him, muffled and still morning deep. “In fact, I think you might have gotten even worse.”

“That's what happens with age,” Bucky agrees. He means for that to be another tease, but then Steve falls silent and Bucky has to finish hopping into his pants before he can turn and figure out why. 

Steve is staring at the roof now, arms resting above his head on the pillows that are still punched down with sleep. He looks like he’s thinking, and Bucky finds out about what when he speaks. “How old  _ are _ you?”

It’s Bucky’s turn to take a second to think this time, but truth be told, this is already something he’s thought about a lot. He’d lost a lot of time going under for Hydra, but also some awake. He doesn’t exactly know how much, so the question of age… “That’s a tricky one,” he eventually settles on. “I don’t really have an actual way to tell, so mostly I just say I’m a year older than you.” He gives Steve a wry smile. “So right now I guess I’m thirty two.” Five years between them doesn’t seem that far when they’ve already spent seventy years apart. 

Steve’s eyes have fallen shut when Bucky glances at his face. He doesn’t open them to answer. “And here I thought you holding one year over my head was bad enough.” He sounds a bit melancholy for all that’s been missed. 

Bucky decides to try and make him smile. “You should know I’m bad to the bone more than anyone,” he jokes, leaning back over the bed so he can pinch his fingers over the slightly crooked bridge of Steve’s nose. The line works, Steve letting out a groan and for the first time since he got here, trying to shove the touch away. Bucky just laughs and holds onto his wrist instead, using the leverage to pull him out of bed. “Time to get up, big guy. We’ve got things to do, places to see.”

Steve groans again, but lets Bucky tug him out of bed so that he’s standing next to him in nothing but Bucky’s borrowed clothes and a faint blush. Bucky grims. He’s always liked being pushed around now that he’s big, and Bucky likes being able to do it. Still, Steve tries to grumble the same way he always had when he was small and Bucky tried to boss him. Bucky  _ still _ tries to boss him. 

“Am I allowed to know what these things  _ are?”  _ Steve asks, accepting the shirt and pants Bucky throws at him while grabbing a top for himself as well. 

Bucky just shrugs coyly and strips off his shirt to switch into the clean one, not hesitating nearly as much this morning as he had last night. Steve’s eyes settle on his body for the brief moment it’s in view and Bucky grins again, moving behind him to get breakfast started while Steve starts to change into his own clothes. 

“Well, I figured we could start out with getting some grub, then  _ maybe _ go out for a walk,” he says, drawing out the  _ maybe  _ just to make Steve roll his eyes. “There’s a waterfall a little ways behind us that I tend to use as a bath. It’s a lot better than showering with a bucket, so… how’d you fancy a swim?”

Out of what seems to be nowhere, Steve freezes. It’s so imperceptible that it almost slips Bucky’s notice, but no matter how good at schooling his features Steve sometimes is thanks to practice with the Cap act, it shows through in his voice. He’s a bad liar. Has been since they were little. “That sounds… fun.”

Bucky frowns at where he’s squatting in front of the fridge and tries to figure out what’s wrong. What’s wrong with swimming? He’d taught Steve how to do it the summer he turned fourteen down at the Y, and during the war they’d bathed at least a dozen times in the river- and then, upon thinking of the war, he realizes.  _ Shit.  _

The war ended with Steve drowning not six weeks ago from his perspective. And now Bucky’s suggesting he get back in the water when he’s just gotten out from being in over his head. He wants to bang his own head against the refrigerator door. 

He looks back up at Steve and gives him a soft smile that he knows is sad around the edges. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“No, it’s fine,” Steve interrupts, setting his jaw mulishly in the way he always does when he’s about to say or do something stubborn. Of course, that  _ something stubborn _ immediately follows. “I’m not made of glass anymore, Buck. I’m not gonna run for the hills just because I have to wet my feet.”

Bucky has to watch him carefully for a moment before he can decide what he should do. Steve is always trying to push himself too far too soon, even after the serum, but now- Bucky is here to pull him back again. He won’t go over the edge as long as he’s around. “You sure?”

Steve nods jerkily, then tries to crack a joke as he crosses his arms over his chest. His hands are tucked under his biceps, Bucky notes, meaning he’s essentially giving himself a hug. That’s always a tell that he’s stressed. “Even if I wasn't, you sorta smell like a barnyard,” he says, forcibly light. “Princess Shuri was right.”

Bucky huffs and pulls out the orange juice he keeps in the fridge to set on top of the cooler while he figures out what else they’re going to eat. “You don’t smell any better, pal.”

“I got sucked up here when I was coming back from the gym!” Steve defends, smoothing back his hair like he’s suddenly self conscious about the sight of grease. Bucky’s seen him go at least a week without washing during the war, but he doesn’t bring that up. It’s always endearing seeing Steve get flustered from Bucky fucking with him. “I can’t help that the serum makes me sweat.”

Really, Bucky knows he was probably sweating so much from how hard he was trying to fuck up his hands. He’d walked in on Steve doing it once a few months ago up at the palace gym where the guards are meant to train, and the sight of it still sticks with him. Steve had just come off a bad mission earlier, and before they landed, Sam had texted Bucky to advise him to give him some space. Apparently it was  _ that _ bad. Bad enough for Bucky to walk in after thirty minutes of staying away only to be welcomed by the sight of blood dripping from Steve’s bare, bruised up hands and pooling on the mat by his feet. 

As if that wasn’t enough, he was leading with the wrong foot. Exactly the way Bucky knows  _ damn _ well he taught him not to. Out of everything, for some reason that was what had done it.  _ That _ was what made Bucky march in, slamming the door shut behind him so Steve could hear him coming above the wet  _ thud _ of all his too hard hits. He’d pulled out the tone Sarah taught him how to use and everything, tugging Steve away from the punching bag quite literally by the ear after calling out his name three times without answer. 

_ “Steve. Steve- Steven Grant, unless you’ve lost your hearing again, I expect you to answer me!” _

He hadn’t lost his hearing, but Bucky had pulled on his ear so hard after that that it wouldn’t have been a surprise if he had. He just didn’t want to answer. He knew he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, something that he knew Bucky was going to scold him about. Bucky suspects that was half of why he did it- a silent cry for help. As for the other half… well, Steve’s always had a nasty habit of letting himself get hurt. Even by hands that are his own. 

Bucky had bandaged his knuckles up and kept him from using them the entire weekend, which Steve hated, but Bucky made happen. 

“ _ You don’t see how valuable your hands are, then how about you try and see what it’s like not to use them? You think your body is expendable, but being stupid is not the same as being strong.” _

Bucky is very glad Steve doesn’t have access to a punching bag now. 

But, what he does have access to is breakfast and a bath. Or at least he will, if Bucky gets to moving. He does that now, getting out two glasses to pour the juice, handing Steve one and keeping the other for himself. “You decide what you want to eat? I was serious about the eggs.” He gestures to the small shelf he has in the corner with the snacks and staples he usually uses to make their meals lined up. “Take your pick. Anything you want.”

Steve shrugs and steps closer to examine the contents of the shelf. “What is  _ Captain Crunch?”  _ he sounds confused. It’s cute- and a little bit funny. 

Bucky grins and goes over to grab the box and start pulling out more bowls. He’ll need to do the dishes soon, but that realization doesn’t dampen the delight he’s feeling at the moment. Steve wants Captain Crunch, out of all the cereal Bucky has? So be it. “One bowl of Captain Crunch coming up, sweet cheeks.”

Steve’s cheeks pink at the name, as sweet as Bucky said. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not this time.” Bucky finishes pouring a bowl and brings it over to Steve along with a spoon, finishing it off with a kiss to his still flushed cheek before turning to fill his own bowl. “Though it is pretty ironic that  _ Captain _ America wants some  _ Captain _ Crunch.” 

Steve huffs, but doesn’t complain when Bucky ruffles his hair and directs him to plop down in the chair he’d sat on last night while Bucky chooses to sit on top of the cooler, which he often uses as a makeshift chair on its own. “Shut it, Barnes.”

Bucky just grins over the edge of his bowl and gives Steve a twinkling look. He’s so much looser than he was yesterday. Bucky loves it almost as much as he loves him. “Being rude to your host isn’t a good look,” he chastises good naturedly. “I know your Ma taught you better manners than that, Steve Rogers.” Bucky’s own mother had actually been more of the stickler for actual etiquette, but that’s not to say Sarah didn’t raise Steve right. Hell, she’d half raised Bucky as well. 

Steve gives him a side eye and swallows a bite of cereal before answering. “Says the guy talking with his mouth full.”

Bucky laughs and knocks their knees together, barely even having to move with how close they’re sitting. They’re always close when Steve can be around, but in this case, it’s even more constant than usual. Bucky doesn’t mind. “I’m a farmer. My manners don’t matter.” That’s relatively true, unless he’s at the palace. He has the decency to at least be  _ decent _ around royalty, but Steve… Steve has seen him in worse situations. Half the time when Steve used to get sick, Bucky practically did everything for him but wipe his ass. 

Steve still shakes his head, but smiles around his spoon with his next bite. Then, after he swallows, “So… if that toothbrush over there is technically mine.. do you think that the other guy would mind if I used it?”

Bucky blinks around his own spoonful, this time chewing and swallowing before he speaks. Steve hasn’t actually questioned him much about  _ the other guy  _ since last night when he asked why he wasn’t here. “If you want to, I don’t think he would mine,” he says. “But I think you’d know better than me.”

Steve is quiet for a second, sipping from his class of orange juice. “I guess I would.” 

Bucky clears the throat in an attempt to clean up the awkwardness that’s settled over the mood as well. He isn’t sure if Steve  _ wants _ to know about himself or what, but he might as well extend the offer for him to find out. “There’s some of his stuff lying around here if you want to take a look at it,” he tells him, tracking his expression to see if he should go on. He does. “But you don’t have to if it feels weird.”  _ Everything _ about this situation feels weird, but even then, Bucky wants to treat him right. 

Steve sets his bowl down in his lap and looks at it. “You know what?” he murmurs. “I think I might.”

The rest of their breakfast finishes relatively quickly after that. Quietly, too. At one point, Steve gets up and takes his bowl over to the window so he can stand and watch outside. Based off of where he’s looking, Bucky wonders if he’s keeping watch for the portal that brought him here. He wonders if Steve is worried or if he  _ wants _ that portal to take him back home. Back to being alone. It’s not easy to think about, so for now, Bucky doesn’t. They have the entire day to spend together, and Bucky’s itinerary requires Steve to spend exactly none of it on his own. 

When Steve turns back around, his bowl is now empty. “Where should I…?” 

Bucky takes the bowl from him and stacks it with their dishes from yesterday, well aware that he needs to wash them sometime soon. A well kept house is a sign of a well rounded life, and whatnot. He shouldn’t slip into the bad habits he had back in Bucharest, but sometimes it’s easy too easy. He tells himself he’ll take care of them later- taking care of Steve comes first. It’s always come first. “You want me to show you that stuff I was talking about?”

Steve nods shyly, hands fidgeting with the zippers on the cargo pants he’s wearing now that he has nothing to hold to busy his hands. At least they’ve stopped shaking so much. “Sure.”

The stuff Bucky was referring to isn’t really that much. He doubts that this Steve- even with as curious as he is- would care much about unwashed shirts or left behind socks that Bucky still can’t find the matches to. What he mostly has in mind is the sketchbook, something he hasn’t actually cracked open himself. Not because Steve told him he couldn’t or anything, but mostly out of unspoken respect. 

He loves Steve and he trusts him, but even then… he doesn’t think he could let him read those journals he kept back after the Potomac when he was still trying to pry himself open at the cracks to figure out what was inside. He still keeps one now, though he doesn’t have to write in it nearly as much these days. Steve has never asked to read those journals. Bucky has never asked to see the sketches Steve does while he’s here outside the ones that Steve is comfortable enough to show him. 

But, he reckons, the sketchbook  _ is _ Steve’s, so that means that this guy has a right to see it. It’s not yet his hands that will make the drawings or his eyes that will see what the inspiration for them is from, but… Bucky has given him a glimpse into his future. It’s only fair Steve gets something for his own. 

It’s with that thought in mind that he abandons the dishes in favor of going to dig around for the sketchbook instead. He’s not exactly sure where he put it, but it’s precious enough for him to know he wouldn’t let it get lost. He hid it so the kids wouldn’t come inside and see in the case that their curiosity (and the open door) got the better of them. He also hid it so he could resist the temptation to open it up himself. He’s only human. 

He finds it after a few minutes of rummaging around under a stack of real books, ones Sam and Nat had gotten him as a joke for a birthday present. One of them is Steve’s biography from a few years ago, which Bucky doesn’t think any of them actually read before gifting it, because the second half of it goes over his choice with the Valkyrie in gruesome detail. He passes it over to pull out the sketchbook from the bottom of the pile. This Steve may deserve a glimpse into the future, but not one that exposes that much. 

He gives the sketchbook to Steve with a soft smile, but doesn’t pull his hands back even when Steve takes the edge of it in his own. The resistance makes Steve meet his eyes, which was exactly the point. “Do you want me to step outside while you do this?” It’s a personal thing to look at. It only makes sense it would be a private moment. 

Steve nods, although he still looks slightly apprehensive about letting Bucky leave his side. “Shouldn’t you check in with T’Challa and Shuri anyways?”

Ah. And now he’s trying to hide his emotions behind that shield- the one he had even before he started carrying the second one in the field. “I probably should, yeah,” Bucky agrees, because Steve might be posturing but he  _ is _ right. Shuri said she would call him but it can’t hurt to check how they’re doing. It’ll also give him a chance to send the Steve that’s with Sam and Nat that text he mentioned last night. Can’t hurt to check in there too. 

Still, before he goes… He steps closer, close enough for Steve to have to fold up the sketchbook so that its cover and his hands are pressed into the small space between their stomachs. Bucky’s own hands come up to either side of his neck so that they can frame his jaw and stoke at the soft skin under where his sideburns meet his face, a spot so sensitive that it has Steve’s breath hitching even before Bucky leans in to capture him into a tender kiss. 

It’s not the same as what he’d given him last night or even what they’d shared this morning. He’s not trying to prove a point so much as he’s trying to encourage him. Tell him that it’s going to be okay. 

The kiss only lasts a few moments, but Bucky makes sure to lean their foreheads together after so he can murmur out one last reassurance. “I’ll be right outside.” Steve nods and clutches the sketchbook closer when Bucky steps away. “Just come out whenever you’re done.” He tugs on Steve’s hair with a playful grimace on his way over to get on his boots and pick up his phone and watch from on top of the bookshelf. “You might be my sweetheart, but that doesn’t mean you don’t stink.” He’s exaggerating, but Steve still rolls his eyes and turns red. 

“Buck-“ He says, obviously working his way up to a complaint, but before he can, Bucky just blows him a kiss and walks out, shutting the door behind him. And now, they both have some space. 

Bucky takes advantage of his space this time sitting on the rock that the other Steve usually lounges on to watch him work. Which is exactly who he’s about to text, because maybe he should contact T’Challa- but as usual, Steve still comes first. It’ll be evening where he is if they haven’t moved, so Bucky hopes he’ll at least get a message or two back. He’s not sure how long the sketchbook is gonna preoccupy the kid inside. 

Better not to waste any time. He begins typing his message out, thankful Shuri tweaked his arm a few weeks back so that the screen can register the metal half of his hands. Typing one handed was a real bitch, but the message he sends now isn’t very long anyways. 

_ Hey. Everything is alright here but I just wanted to check in. You okay? _

He wouldn’t blame Steve if he was freaking out.  _ Bucky _ would freak out if he had a carbon copy of his old self running around. 

Surprisingly, Steve’s response comes back in only a few seconds. 

_ I’m fine. What about you? He being a handful like usual? _

There’s that shield again, even over text. Bucky snorts and scratches his neck while he tries to figure out what to say.  _ Is _ he okay? He would say he feels fine, although this experience is a bit exhausting on the emotions, not to mention hard to even comprehend on the brain. He may have been the one to first suggest time travel as the explanation, but that doesn’t mean it’s still hard to actually have to believe it. That second question is easy to answer, though. 

_ He’s no worse than you are, punk. _

That’s only true in terms of being stubborn, but Bucky doesn’t want to say that. Steve already knows how low down he was back then, and saying something detrimental about him when that version is sitting right inside… it doesn’t feel right. That feels like he’s choosing sides. Which again, is weird to comprehend. They’re the same person, just at different points in life. 

Steve’s answer takes a little longer to come back this time, but when it does, it makes Bucky blink and shift his boots to scratch against the rough surface of the rock. 

_ He letting you take care of him? _

That’s a bit of an odd question coming from a man who sometimes still has trouble letting Bucky take care of him himself. There’s irony there, but also maybe a chance for introspection. Bucky tries to type his response so fast, he’d probably fumble if not for the quality of his prosthetic’s grip. 

_ About as much as you do.  _

Then, after a second, Bucky decides to add on something else. 

_ Seeing you like this makes me miss you even more. _

It’s not a guilt trip. It’s just the truth, and it’s one the other man needs to hear. Just because he’s doing better than he once was doesn’t mean he’s completely okay. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a break. Bucky’s arm whirs while he waits for Steve to say something back. It takes a full five minutes this time.

And all it ends up being is a simple “ _ I miss you too.” _

Bucky sighs. That’s typical. Steve is a slippery little shit when it comes to this sort of thing, hence why yesterday his past counterpart tried to quite literally turn tail and run. He doesn’t know what he expected- but he definitely doesn’t expect the text that ends up coming next. 

_ You sleep with me yet? _

“Jesus,” Bucky says out loud, ending in a slightly incredulous laugh. That’s a distractor if he’s ever seen one, especially from someone like Steve. He’s not a prude, but he sure isn’t usually so forward. Bucky shakes his head and snorts as he types. 

_ Why? You want all the sordid details?  _

Then, because he doesn’t want to be dishonest-

_ No, I have not. _

Steve takes even longer to reply this time, and Bucky wonders why until he reads what finally does come. He almost falls off his rock. 

_ I think you should. _

And that’s it- Bucky might have terrible cell reception down here, but he can’t take the drawn out back and forth, so dialing Steve is a choice that doesn’t even require a second to make. Steve picks up in about the same amount of time, and Bucky doesn’t even pause to say hello. “Explain yourself.”

“Well, hello to you too.” Steve is trying to sound sarcastic, but Bucky can hear the embarrassment that’s simmering underneath.

He has no qualms about drawing it out. Steve dug himself this hole in the first place. “Are you really trying to whore me out to yourself?”

Steve huffs. “The me you have with you hasn’t exactly been around the block.” Neither has the Steve that Bucky is talking to, but that’s besides the point. “I’m just trying to tell you that when I said I trusted you, I meant it. It’s  _ okay _ if you want to.” His voice gets softer as the shyness creeps in. “I understand.”

Bucky raises his eyebrow. “You do?” 

There’s a hint of hesitance in Steve’s tone, but there’s also honesty. “I can’t say I’m not gonna need you to remind me of a few things next time I see you, but… yeah, Buck. I do.” He sighs. “I’m not going to resent you for giving something that I know I really would have needed back then if you were able to be around. No one really touched me for  _ years,  _ Buck. I didn’t let them.” He gets even quieter. “But I’d let you.”

Bucky reflects on the night Steve actually talked to him about how he’d not let himself ever try to move on, then thinks about how the Steve inside soaks up every touch like a plant that needs more sun. He hadn’t meant anything serious by the dirty jokes, but he can’t lie and say he hasn’t thought about what Steve is saying. The Steve inside has been left alone for so long needing so much, and this is something that only Bucky is able to provide. Steve said he trusts Bucky to take care of him. Intimacy is one of the best ways that Bucky knows how, but it isn’t  _ necessary.  _ It isn’t always what Steve needs, or Bucky for that matter. 

But if in this case, Steve is to be believed… “You know that I love you,” Bucky murmurs, just to make sure. “More than anything. Right?”

Steve exhales hard, but Bucky can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “I do,” he says quietly. “And that’s how I know that you’ll always treat me right.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “Okay,” he eventually says. “Alright.” There’s a sense of calm that washes over him with the certainty of what he can and can’t do that makes him feel a little lighter. 

After that, they sit in the silence together for a minute or so, half a world apart but with their hearts in each other’s hands. Bucky soaks in the sun up above and wonders how the other Steve is doing inside with the sketchbook. Then, for transparency’s sake, he decides to tell Steve about letting him look. Steve doesn’t seem that scandalized, but he is a little surprised. 

“Oh,” he says. “I sorta was wondering where that one went. Nat had to get me a new one.” Sometimes Bucky thinks he’d forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on so tight. “You can tell him he can use it, if he wants. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I bet you just want to see if you still have the same skill,” Bucky teases. “It’s not a competition, you know.” That’s a joke, but it’s one Bucky purposely makes to lay down a point. It isn’t a  _ competition _ , and Bucky definitely isn’t the prize. 

Steve groans and lets Bucky laugh at him a little, but after a few moments, sobers up and gets down to the business Bucky has been avoiding. “Have T’Challa and Shuri said anything?”

Bucky sighs and scuffs the heel of his boot in the dirt of the ground. “I actually have to talk to them after this and see, but so far, no news.”

“You should check, though.” Steve sounds like he knows Bucky has been using him to put it off. 

Bucky sighs again. “I should,” he agrees. 

Then, because every version of Steve Rogers is a little shit, Steve hums, says “I love you”, and promptly hangs up. Bucky is still staring at the phone in disbelief when he gets the text. 

_ Get to it, old man. _

Huffing out a laugh and laying his phone down on his leg, Bucky finally does. He raises the wrist with his watch up and taps to see if Shuri will pick up. After a few moments, she does, and when she sees it’s him, she squints. 

“I told you I’d contact  _ you,  _ not the other way around,” she scolds, but she doesn’t really sound mad. In fact, she sounds a little happy. Bucky doesn’t have to spend too long wondering why. “But, now that you have, I have news.” Someone says something in Xhosa off screen that Bucky can’t understand, and Shuri rolls her eyes. “Fine. I  _ will _ have news soon. By this afternoon, I think. We’ve had several breakthroughs regarding the matter we found and the anomaly that registered-“ She must see him growing vaguely concerned, because she clams up after and gives him a slightly too calm smile. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying.” That’s a lie, but it’s not one he expected her to believe anyways. 

She doesn’t. “I’ll contact you when we have something concrete. Okay? Now goodbye.” She hangs up on him too, and Bucky blinks. That seems to be becoming a popular trend. 

Luckily, the timing for it was right, at least in terms for how quickly after Steve steps outside. He’s quiet, but he doesn’t look upset. He actually appears a little at peace, which Bucky is glad for, even if he doesn’t know exactly why he looks that way. He doesn’t ask, and Steve doesn’t offer any answers about what he’d seen. He just walks closer and Bucky waits for him to speak. 

When he does, it’s low, but not nearly as small as he'd sounded for most of yesterday. “You still want to go for that swim?”

Bucky nods, watching him carefully. He stands. “Just let me go get a couple towels and some spare clothes and we can be on our way.”

When they do eventually start the walk, it’s with Steve following behind with a pencil and the sketchbook still in his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> activating my comment magnet in 3...2...1...go!


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve,” he says firmly, and the fear in Steve’s stomach ceases for the few seconds it takes for Bucky to speak. “Sweetheart. Stop whatever you’re thinking for now, okay? We don’t even know what they’re going to have to say.” He’s not technically lying, but it’s not the complete truth. They know what the answer to this situation was always supposed to be. 
> 
> As usual with them, it was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a sort of sex scene in this chapter at one point and there will be an actual one in the next but i tried to make them not as graphic as usual? so be aware of that.

If there’s anything else that Steve can appreciate about this strange out of time experience, it’s at least having the knowledge that he’s still handy with a charcoal and some pens. The sketchbook had shown him that, among a few other things that previously he hadn’t even known he was unsure of. The sketches weren’t that much different in style from what few of his own he has back in his SHIELD apartment, but the material is a different story of its own. 

Apparently future Steve doesn’t live here with Bucky, but like Bucky said, he often comes home. The drawings had proven that. There are at least a dozen of them in the book of all the things Bucky had shown him yesterday- the neighborhood kids hanging out in the tree next to Bucky’s hut. The strange yet symmetrical skyline of what Steve assumes is a city somewhere in Wakanda that he doubts he’ll ever go. In contrast, there’s also a page featuring the market in a quieter, more traditional part of town. There’s also a drawing of the sunset- the only page Steve saw done in color. That was a good choice. He doubts mere black and white could have done that sight justice. 

There are also pages with people and places he doesn’t think belong here- a redheaded woman that eventually turns blonde features in most of them, as does a muscular, dark skinned man with a goatee and a grin that’s almost always shown. He’s not sure who they are, but in a lot of the sketches, they seem happy. There’s one drawing Steve liked a lot of the two of them laughing on the couch with socked feet sitting on the smiling man’s lap that Steve assumes are supposed to be his own. He thinks these people are his friends- or, they will be. He doesn’t know. 

It’s just nice to see that even when Bucky isn’t with him in person, maybe he won’t always be alone. He’d stayed on that page the longest, at least until he finally got to the pages with Bucky. 

Those had been in a completely different category all on their own, the same way Bucky has been in his heart. There were so _many._ Maybe to make up for all the time they’re apparently going to lose together, but more likely just because Steve loves him in every lifetime, even the ones where they’re kept apart. Bucky had said they have a knack for finding each other. This visit… Steve hopes this visit proves that to be true, even if he is only here for what neither of them want to acknowledge as a limited amount of time. 

For now, Steve doesn’t have to find him. All he has to do is follow, which is exactly what he’s doing as they make their way walking towards the waterfall that Bucky swears is somehow always kept warm. 

“No one wants to tell me how,” he’s saying, stepping over a log to lead Steve down the well-worn path to where he can already hear water trickling in the distance. “I asked the neighbors _and_ Shuri, but all they did was tell me to mind my business and all she did was tell me to quit trying to snoop.” He grins back over his shoulder at Steve like he’s trying to make sure he’s still there. “I can live with not knowing the mechanics of it as long as it ends up with me being able to still use the pool.”

 _Pool,_ Steve comes to find, does not do the sight that welcomes him a few minutes later justice at all. Not by a long shot. 

Like every view he’s seen here so far, the clearing he steps into behind Bucky is beautiful. The spot is hidden in the forest behind the hut, so the surrounding foliage is lush and green, reflected over water that is sparkling in the sunlight filtering through the trees to hit it. It’s crystal clear, swirling in lazy circle from the flow of the waterfall that trickles down to fill it. Steve’s staring down into, for once more fascinated than he is afraid by the proximity to open water than he has been since waking up. He bends down to dip his fingers in. It’s warm, just like Bucky said. 

Bucky lets the satchel of towels, toiletries, and clothes thump down onto one of the dry, flat rocks that circle the edge of the midsized pool and comes to crouch next to Steve, sticking his flesh fingers in alongside him. Steve lets his eyes linger on them. Besides the fact that Bucky only has one of them left, his hands have changed, aged up in their own way along with the rest of them. There are different callouses than he’s used to seeing. From farm work rather than a gun.

Steve had sketched those hands so often growing up that he has the sight of how they used to look still practically ingrained, and while he’s slightly sad those had to change too, he wants to sketch them again. He wants to know them again. He wants to be _held_ by them again. He wants to… well, he wants a lot of things he’s not sure he’s allowed to have. Bucky already has someone, and even if that someone is still him, Steve’s not the same. He’s the lesser version. The worse one. 

He wonders what Bucky sees when he looks at him. All the cracked pieces or the things that he hasn’t yet lost. He doesn’t suppose there’s any good way to ask, so he doesn’t. 

Bucky draws his fingers out of the water and dries them off by wiping them through his beard, which Steve has to pointedly not stare at. That’s another part of Bucky that’s new, and he wants to get to know that too. Steve wipes his own fingers off on his thigh. Bucky isn’t shy about watching him. He must be worried about how Steve will react to the water, which is a little annoying, but Steve is a little worried himself. 

It’s warm, though, and it doesn’t look too deep. Besides, Bucky will be with him, just like he was when Steve learned how to swim. 

Getting up, Bucky goes over to the bag he’d brought and takes out a towel to toss it towards Steve. “Here you go.”

“What, no swim trunks?” Steve says, catching it and standing up himself. Bucky doesn’t answer- the bastard even starts _whistling._ Steve looks up at him, eyes narrowed. “Really, Buck? Skinny dipping?” That’s the sort of thing they read about in bad books growing up. Not like they got many chances to do it except during the war. 

They had done it a few times, though, if you count washing up in the river and staying in the water far past what counted as an actual bath. Underwater was one of the best places they could hide, especially when it came to having their hands on each other. Steve isn’t sure Bucky will be putting his hands on him now, but apparently he’s expecting him to get in there nude. 

Or maybe not. Bucky laughs and tosses him a dark pair of underwear next. “This is all I really have, but I was serious about using this as a shower, so if _you_ don’t mind…” He gestures to himself. “I wasn’t gonna wear anything myself.”

 _Oh._ Steve’s brain short circuits a little. 

The casual confidence Bucky has with his body- last night’s hesitance over Steve having to see his scarring aside- is nothing new. Neither is the sight of Bucky’s bare body in the first place. But the idea of seeing it how it is now, so openly… Steve’s answer comes out slightly strangled. “Sure,” he says. Then, trying to tamp down what he knows is a beet red blush on his face, “That’s okay.”

Bucky is fiddling with the edge of his shirt like he’s unsure, but Steve can still see that goddamn smirt playing at the corners of his mouth. For all that he calls Steve a little shit, the older man is a downright _menace._ “Don’t feel obligated to do the same,” he says, and Steve can tell that sentiment is genuine even though the rest is teasing. “I’ll offer to wash your hair either way.”

Steve has to turn away and start taking off his own shirt after that, hoping the fabric keeps Bucky from seeing the sappy expression on his face. He’d always liked when Bucky was able to do that before, even if he’d bitched about it when he was small. During the war when they could risk it, it became somewhat of a comfort. Something soft and domestic that they could still manage to take just for themselves. Having that back now… the little things mean a lot. 

Steve stays turned when he starts to work on his pants as well, so his now bare back is still to Bucky when he hears the telltale sound of the other man’s pants dropping, then the zippers clinking as he must toss them on a rock. Steve closes his eyes and takes off his own, pointedly trying not to picture all of that exposed skin and hard earned muscle in the sun, but he doesn’t quite manage, especially not when he can also hear Bucky jump in right as he shoves his own pants down. 

“Come on in,” Bucky calls. “The water’s fine.”

Steve stares down at the navy blue briefs Bucky had tossed him, then to the white ones he already has on. He has two options to work with here. And then… a third. If that’s what he chooses. He doesn’t feel obligated. Mostly he just _wants,_ and wonders if he's allowed to _have._

Here’s to hoping he finds out. 

He drops his underwear and sets them on top of the rest of Bucky’s borrowed clothing, distantly thinking back to where his actual clothes are and if the palace staff kept them or probably threw them out. He hopes they at least kept the jacket. That’s the one thing he liked. 

That question fades out of his mind when he finally turns and moves as quickly as he can to join the other man already waiting in the pool. The temperature of it is warm and the depth starts out relatively shallow at the edge, so it isn’t too hard or too triggering to make his way in deeper, walking down into the water and trying to tread his way over to where Bucky is already wetting his hair by the foamed up spray of the waterfall. 

It’s hard not to hone in completely on the lines of Bucky’s bared up body under the clear edge of the water, but Steve manages, even if he does maybe take a quick glance. Everything down there is the same, at least. He didn’t expect much of a change, even if Bucky’s thighs are a little thicker, but that’s how the rest of him is too. He’s got his eyes closed when Steve joins him, water streaming down his face, and when he moves out of the water’s way to open them up, the color looks so blue that Steve can’ help but think it’s a shame there were never any mermen in their storybooks growing up. Seeing that picture at a young age would have probably cleared a few problems up. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Bucky, and Bucky had been the one starting to cause all those problems in the first place. 

He’s sort of causing a problem now. 

He’s smiling at Steve when he comes closer, water on his lashes and dripping down to his lips. Steve has the sudden urge to lick it off. “Nice swimsuit.” 

Steve splashes water at him so he can’t see his face go red again. He can blame it on the sunburn later, at least. “Some of us are actually concerned about getting clean.” This usually would be the type of moment where Bucky would dunk his head under the water back during the war, but he doesn’t do that now. 

Instead, he laughs and starts swimming in circles around Steve like some sort of predator about to zero in on its prey. Somehow, Steve doesn’t feel particularly in danger. Or relatively adverse to that idea. “I care about getting clean. Just thought I’d enjoy being dirty a little longer first.” He says that like it’s a line, and when he smiles, his whole face practically gleams in the sunlight. 

Steve can blame the shift in his breathing on being in the water all he wants, but that doesn’t change what they both already probably know. Water like this doesn’t exactly hide much, though he’s not sure what Bucky is going for here. “You’re making me dizzy.” That’s not really physically true right now, but privately, Bucky’s always had the ability to make Steve’s brain go a little loopy. 

“Need me to hold you up, then?” And with that, Bucky finally pounces, pushing through the water so that it splashes up around him and Steve doesn’t have but a few seconds to register before he feels Bucky’s arms wrapping around his sides as he nudges in for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss that tastes like spring water. 

Steve is so surprised by it that he lets out a small sound when the contact finally registers, but that doesn’t keep him from sinking down into it. His arms settle around Bucky’s contrasted shoulders, holding on while Bucky leads the exchange and then head tipping back when it ends. Jesus. Bucky sprang that on him pretty fast- Steve’s _hair_ isn’t even wet. 

The rest of his body is, though. It’d be weird for it not to be with how it’s under the water, pressed practically chest to toe against Bucky’s own. Bucky sprang that on him pretty fast too, and as much as Steve doesn’t mind, they also need to slow down before he really does get dizzy with all the confusion currently spinning through his head. 

Bucky tries for another kiss and Steve has to half him with a hand pressed to his chest. He tries not to take notice of how firm it feels under his fingers- no wonder he’d gotten such a good rest. “Buck, wait.”

Within a second, Bucky does, drawing back completely with a genuine look of concern that’s so sudden at Steve’s hesitance it’s almost sweet. It _is_ sweet, but Steve is a little sad at how cold being left without Bucky’s body makes him go, even with how warm the water is. “What is it? I push you too far? You need me to go grab some clothes?” He’s already swimming towards where his satchel is, and once again, Steve has to halt him. 

This time he does it with words. “No!” Then, when Bucky turns from where he’s treading to face him, “That’s not… that’s not what it is. I want it.” His voice gets softer. “Want you.”

Bucky’s answer comes out so simply it almost makes Steve feel stupid. “Then you can have me, Stevie.”

And doesn’t that just take the cake. He laughs, and it’s wet from more than just the water. “Can I?” The question feels hopeless, even while Steve’s heart is beating halfway out of his chest at the way Bucky is circling back closer, looking to calm him down. 

His words are gentle, as is the hand that comes up to cup Steve’s cheek. “Would I offer if I was going to tell you you can’t?” Steve can feel where Bucky’s legs are kicking in the water beneath them, and he feels strangely like that’s the only thing that’s keeping him afloat. Being able to feel that. To feel _him._ “I’m awful, but not that awful.” And then Bucky’s nose is nudging up against Steve’s own for a small, sweet kiss that only lasts a second before Bucky is speaking right up against his lips. “Sweetheart, I’m yours.”

“But.. the other guy,” Steve tries to say, not wanting to fight back but feeling unable to give in without at least giving Bucky the option to get out. “What about him?”

Bucky sighs and smiles at him like he wants to snack the side of his head. He probably would, if they weren’t in the water. “I’m his too. But he trusts me, just like you do.” Then, he does smack Steve, finally wetting his hair with the accompanying splash. “Remember how you’re the same _person?”_

Somehow while talking, they’re both managed to make their way to the edge of the pool where it’s shallow enough for their feet to touch ground, and Bucky takes advantage of that as soon as they do to grip both sides of Steve’s face, ignoring the chill bumps that erupt now that the water is only slightly above their waists. 

“I’m always gonna take care of you,” he whispers, and now his voice is wet too. “All you gotta do right now is let me.” He touches his thumb to the center of Steve’s chin. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” The tone in his voice is clear about who will be taking charge, but this is a question that sets that to the side. This is Bucky asking Steve for his permission. 

Steve doesn’t have much to offer, but at least he can give him that. He nods so fast it’s almost frantic, and then makes a desperately relieved sound when both Bucky’s arms wrap around him yet again, this time without either of them trying to hold back. Steve doesn’t ever want to hold back again. All he wants to do is hold _on._

That’s exactly what he does, even when Bucky pulls them back in the water. He isn’t afraid of going under this time, not when he has Bucky here to pull him out- or in this case, back him over to a blunt rock that lines the edge of the pool to pin him as gently as he can against it. They kiss almost the entire way over there, and then kiss some more before having to pull away for a breath. Steve is careful about tossing back his head, but he doesn’t have to be when Bucky brings up his flesh hand to fit behind it and act as a cushion while his metal hand clamps on the edge of the rock to keep them both from sinking. Their legs are still moving, but soon enough, Steve forgoes even that in favor of letting his spread to wrap around Bucky’s waist while his arms circle once again around his neck. 

He’s floating, fear gone somewhere that doesn’t matter. Not now, when Bucky’s body is right in his space. Not now when he’s nudging in for yet another kiss that Steve had to wait an entire lifetime to be able to receive. 

Bucky kisses him and hums into it, tongue licking at the seam of his lips until Steve opens up that part of himself too and chooses to let him inside. He’s been closed off for so long that he feels like he should be out of practice, but with Bucky, it’s easy. That’s the best part about him. Their lives have never been and apparently never will be easy, but loving him always is. It’s the easiest thing Steve has ever done. 

He feels sort of easy himself right now with what he’s working with under the water, but in his defense, arousal isn’t exactly something he’s been feeling much of for the past six weeks. He’s had other things to handle, but right now… he thinks he wants Bucky to handle him, and he doesn’t think it’s going to be very hard for him to tell. It feels a little odd to be like this so out in the open, but Bucky promised complete privacy and Steve doesn’t see anyone else around. He’d say he doesn’t hear anyone either, but that doesn’t mean much with how loud the staticky sound of the waterfall is. 

He’s also a little preoccupied at the present moment. Bucky fills practically all of his senses in the current setting, especially when he sets about kissing him again. He’s all Steve can feel. All Steve can see. All Steve can smell, can hear, can taste. Steve wouldn’t trade being anywhere else for the world. There is, however, the pesky fact of the matter that they’ve supposed to be getting clean. But like Bucky joked about earlier, he seems dead set on getting them dirty first. 

He still takes the time to ask Steve before touching him where they both can see he wants it, might even need it. The water doesn’t hide much. Steve himself can see Bucky’s dark nipples smudged under right where the water meets his chest, the hair covering it gone dark with the moisture. He can also _feel_ more than see Bucky’s body where it’s firmed up and interested against his own, which in turn, only makes Steve want even more. 

Bucky’s voice is nothing above a whisper, but it’s close enough to Steve’s ear for the rush of the waterfall not to cover the words. “You want me to touch you?” He doesn’t need to ask, but he does, and Steve loves him for it. He’s always been so damn overprotective, but for once, Steve won’t complain. 

He nods, Bucky’s fingers still fit into his hair. “Please,” he breathes, the familiar feeling of wanting Bucky so bad it sinks down into his bones bubbling up for the first time since the fall. “ _Please.”_

“Okay, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, mouth still on Steve’s own. “I got you. Come on.” 

For a moment, Steve doesn’t know where they’re supposed to go until Bucky’s arms are back around him and pulling him out of the pool towards the rocks of the makeshift shore. He doesn’t understand why for a second, shivering and trying to keep from slipping to break his neck until Bucky tosses his towel at him with a rueful smile. 

“As much as I love you, we are _not_ making time in the water,” he informs him, spreading his own thick towel flat over the largest rock that’s available and patting the spot next to him when he sits like he wants Steve to come over. Steve does. “Not when we’re supposed to clean up in it right after. Probably could have been a bit better planning there on my end, but,” he plants one on Steve’s mouth, the smack of it when the pull apart making Steve pink. “Sometimes being sweet on you means I can’t think straight.”

Steve’s currently having a hard time thinking straight too. The way Bucky’s sitting has his waist doubled up and thighs spread wide, all that interest his body had shown down in the water still pushing up in plain sight between them. Steve’s own towel is wrapped low around his shoulders, but Bucky’s gentle push for him to drop the fabric away is one he falls into easily. He wants this more than he once wanted to stay alive, and that’s sad to think of right now- so he doesn’t. He lets Bucky push that away too. 

“Gonna give you my hand, yeah? Make you feel good,” Bucky says lowly, already reaching the right one forward, a motion that makes Steve think back to one of the first times they had done something like this the summer he was eighteen and Bucky’s family took a day trip to the beach. 

It had been a few days after the Fourth for a weekend getaway, so Bucky had convinces his parents to take Steve with them as a gift for his late birthday. Steve’s not sure what was the main draw for the older boy: not having to pay for a present or seeing Steve shirtless out in the sun. 

It had probably been stupider than either of them will want to remember these days, going down at night under the docks where it was dark and dank just so they could get a quick hand on each other’s dicks. But they got away with it without being arrested, somehow. It still blows Steve’s mind that they don’t have to worry about all those same things now. Sure, it would be embarrassing if someone walked up- but it’d be legal for them to just be together. Not only in this country, but also back home. Back home in Brooklyn where Steve wonders if he’ll ever have a home again waiting. 

That’s another thing he doesn’t want to think about now. So he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches up his hand to wipe away the water sliding down his neck and uses the slickness to reach for Bucky’s cock where it’s pushing up between strong, sturdy legs and starts tentatively stroking while Bucky does the same with a lick to his palm that Steve _still_ finds disgusting despite seeing him do it for- well, decades now. 

He almost complains, but doesn’t, _can’t-_ it’s a bit embarrassing getting worked up so fast, but he hasn’t done _this_ in decades either. It’s not something he wanted to enjoy without Bucky there to be with him. And now that he’s getting it after what felt like so long… the sun isn’t the only thing that’s keeping him heated up right now. Steve just got out of the water, but he feels warm because Bucky is by his side, hands on him hot and _alive._

He hadn’t been touched so long before this, and now, to be touched so intimately by the person he missed the most- it’s a miracle he manages to keep from crying. He settles for at least curling up close as he tries to match Bucky’s pace, head resting on his metal shoulder while the hard length of the actual prosthetic comes up to rest on his back. The hand Steve’s not using to try and reciprocate Bucky jerking him off is slipped behind to clutch at his waist, fingers digging into soft skin where they formerly never could spare it. Everything is so different, but what Bucky’s making him feel is the same.

The spray of the waterfall is nothing but background noise with how Bucky starts whispering his usual strain of sweet talk into Steve’s ears while slowing down his stores. He shushes the sad sound Steve makes. “Just relax, sweetheart,” he says gently. “Let yourself have it. C’mon, look down.” 

When Steve finally does, it’s with a groan. The sight of one of those hands he loved so much being on him in a way he thought he’d never get again- even aside from the arousal still curled up in Steve’s belly, it’s still beautiful to him in a way that his half out of it brain registers as something he should sketch. Which is ridiculous, because he’s never done that before, but part of him wants to draw it just because it’s Bucky. It’s Bucky’s hand on _him._

Touch, Steve has come to find, is what makes things feel real. And if he gets this taken away from him, how else will he know it’s real then?

Bucky touches the pad of his thumb to the tip of Steve in a way that makes him have to turn his head away and end that train of thought. He doesn’t need to worry about losing touch when he’s getting so much of it now. Bucky’s touching him, and he’s talking again too. “Pretty baby,” he murmurs. “Look so good like this.” He kisses Steve’s hair, even though it’s still unwashed and the heat has them both beginning to sweat. “Never get tired of seeing you go so sweet.”

Steve makes a noise into the crook of Bucky’s neck that he hopes doesn’t come out high enough to be a whine, but he can’t help his reactions when Bucky moves his wrist like that. “You lay it on so thick it’s bound to rub off at some point,” he exhales, trying to come off more composted that they both know he really is. 

“Yeah?” Steve can hear the smirk in Bucky’s voice. “You want to rub off on me, huh?”

Steve groans again, thankful this time that it comes out deep. “Didn’t say that,” he gets out, trying to sound stubborn but secretly hoping Bucky will read between the lines. He wants him on top of him, to be weighed down so he’ll never have to go anywhere Bucky doesn’t go with him ever again. 

“You didn’t have to.” Bucky grins, and then, because he’s always been able to read Steve like a book- “That also wasn’t a no.” With that, he lets Steve go, which elicits another groan and then a surprised exhale when Bucky promptly shoves him on his back. Bucky may have joked about being bad at planning earlier, but this time he’s prepared enough to bunch up Steve’s discarded towel to pillow behind his head so he doesn’t crack his skull open on a rock just because they wanted to get off. That looks like a wish to be fulfilled soon based off of how hungrily Bucky looks down at him from above. 

It’s promising. And Bucky Barnes never breaks a promise. 

He kisses Steve again and that’s promising too, as is the roll of his hips that come down to meet where Steve rocks up against him. “You want me to make you feel good?” he says roughly, already balancing his weight to brace on his metal arm so he can snake his right hand down between them. 

Steve’s already feeling pretty good, but he nods and arches his spine trying to get Bucky’s hand back around him. “Want it,” he sighs, legs spreading the same way they had in the water. “Want you.”

Bucky kisses above his eyebrows, aim sloppy with how he’s fitting his fist around them both to start back up his strokes. “There’ll be time for going all the way later, speed racer,” he teases. “You’ll have to settle for the old fashioned way, for now, I’m afraid.”

Steve groans and kicks his heel halfheartedly against Bucky’s bare back. “Get to it, old man.” For some reason, Bucky finds that hilarious. He’s still laughing when Steve finally decides to kiss him back into being quiet- or as quiet as Bucky ever is when he has Steve underneath him. 

They’re still kissing when Steve eventually goes over the edge, spilling on Bucky’s stomach with a bitten off whimper into his mouth and a burst of pleasure that whites out his vision. He throws his head back hard while Bucky works him through it, impossibly thankful for the towel that’s still pillowed behind his head when he finds it in him to come back down to earth. He’s given a warm welcome with the sight of Bucky following in his footsteps to come, leaned back to finish the job and watch where Steve is still laying, now languid and lazy in the sun with a mess marked up on his stomach. The mess only gets even worse when Bucky decides to add to it, but Steve is too content for now to really mind.

Bucky wipes it away a few moments later anyways, using a third towel that he must have had tucked away in the satchel that he wets by leaning over the water to dip it in. He throws it to the side after they’re both relatively clean of the remnants of the exchange and kisses Steve on the nose once before laying down beside him.

“We really need to wash off,” Steve says, but he doesn’t want to move yet. 

Evidently, Bucky doesn’t either. “We can wait a bit.” And so they do. 

It takes another half hour for them to get back in the water, and then another hour after that to actually get clean and dry off with how Bucky doesn’t hold back from his usual suggestive antics every three seconds that he gets to see Steve undressed. He’s practically worse than he was before the war when Steve would wear his work shirts around the apartment. Steve really misses being able to do that. It’s part of why he tends to wear his own shirts a little baggy now, though the t-shirt Bucky has stuck him in today is a little too tight around the chest. 

He’s laying against Bucky’s chest at the current moment, the two of them now back to being dressed but choosing to sit in the sun while their hair finishes drying. Bucky had even brought a brush, which is what he’s busying himself with now. Steve’s hair is short enough to barely be damp by this point, so he decides to busy himself with the sketchbook instead. Bucky told him on the way here that _the other guy_ (thinking about that never gets any less weird) said he could use it if he wants. 

Steve doesn’t think he’d feel comfortable talking to him or anything, but the offer to use some of the blank pages was nice. He’d chosen to accept, hence the sketch he’s working on now. It’s not anything too daring or detailed, just a quick outline of the waterfall so he can remember how it felt to be in it. He’s never bathed somewhere like this, but it was nice. For more reasons than what happened beforehand. 

He’s lying perpendicular to Bucky, head on his chest but their legs stretched out in opposite directions with Steve facing towards the water and Bucky back towards the path. Bucky’s been so quiet the last few minutes that Steve would assume he’s dozed off asleep if not for the metal hand that’s now stroking through his hair in a brushing movement of its own. 

Bucky is the first to break the lull, but his voice is light enough for the calm not to lessen. “We should probably head back soon. Get some food.” He tugs a little on Steve’s hair to get his attention from where he’s shading in the edges of a rock. “C’mon, kid. Get ‘em moving.” Steve sighs and is about to, but that’s before he noticed the sight of something colorful flash in his peripheral. He pauses and tries to look at where it went- then realizes what’s happening when Bucky laughs and points out, “You’ve got a butterfly on your head.”

Steve tries to keep extra still even though he wishes he could see. “I do?”

Bucky snorts and reaches for where his phone and watch are lying beside his socks. He uses the screen, opening up the camera so Steve can see his own head and what’s on top. “You do.” He promptly snaps a picture of Steve at a very unflattering angle and Steve has to move in order to protest, staring forlornly as the butterfly flies off. 

“Hey,” he complains when Bucky chuckles. Phones are sometimes he was already struggling to get used to before, and now they’re apparently even more complicated. He wonders where his own SHIELD phone went and if it’s lying somewhere on the ground back in Brooklyn with Fury still trying to figure out what happened. That’s sort of funny to think about, though he doesn’t say so to Bucky. He’s sort of gotten the impression he doesn’t like the guy. 

Bucky doesn’t even bother with an answer. He just hums and pulls on his socks before standing to pull Steve up after he does the same. “Bath time is over, punk. Let’s get back to the hut.” 

The walk away from the waterfall feels a little melancholy, mostly because Steve is wondering if they’ll get to go back there again. It looks even more beautiful in the moonlight, he bets. Maybe tomorrow night he can ask Bucky if they can come back out. 

For now, he follows him to the hut. Bucky said they had plans today, and he’s pretty sure taking a bath wasn’t the end of it, but he hasn’t elaborated on anything else they’re going to do. Steve decides to ask while they’re still making their way through the forest. “Where else are you thinking about dragging me around?”

Bucky shoulders the satchel that now contains Steve’s sketchbook over his back, bumping their hips together when Steve falls in step beside him out of habit. “Well, since you seem to have a way with animals, I was thinking I could take you to go see those goats I mentioned yesterday. You know, the ones my neighbor wants me to take?” He brushes his hair out of his face and secures it with a hair tie while they’re walking. “Figure I should see what I’m getting into first.”

Steve smiles at the thought. Growing up in the city didn’t exactly give them much opportunity to interact with animals outside of housepets and alley cats, but there had been some farm houses they spent the nights in in Europe that had pastures nearby. He’s never held a goat, though, especially not a baby one. “That sounds nice.” Then, he frowns. “Won’t your neighbor be a little freaked out to see me looking, you know…” He gestures to himself, not sure of what word he’s looking for. 

Bucky gives it to him. “Young? Cleancut?” He snorts when Steve scowls at the descriptors, but waves him off. “He’s not as nosy as the kids, and they’ll most likely be in school right now. He might not even be home, and we’ll just be going to the pen”

Steve raises his eyebrows. They’re almost to the hut by now. “And you have permission? Or are you breaking in?”

“You think I’m a criminal or something?” Bucky side eyes him and pokes him in the shoulder while they walk up to the hut so he can set the satchel down inside the door. Steve stays outside while Bucky ducks in to do it, speaking again when he steps out. “Me and him are pals. He doesn’t mind.” Then, stage whispering, “And if we get caught, I’m pretty sure you know how to run.”

Steve side eyes him back, then rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh when Bucky just sticks out his tongue. “Bet I could outrun _you.”_

“Yeah? Some of us aren’t so young.”

“It’s not even five years, and you said the same thing when it was only one-“

“I’m sorry. My ears don’t work as well as they used to. Can you speak up?” 

When Steve shoves him, Bucky doesn’t fall, which Steve is secretly glad for. He never wants to have to deal with that again. 

-

An hour and a half later when Steve is covered in hay and holding two baby goats, he begins to suspect that maybe their baths were for naught. He likes the little animals, but they’re not exactly what he would call sweet smelling, and about ten minutes ago, he only narrowly avoided one peeing on his lap. Bucky had thought it was hilarious until one actually got his shoe. If Steve still had his phone, _he_ would have been taking a picture of _that._

The neighbor Bucky had mentioned is in fact out, but Bucky had had no qualms about hopping the fence and climbing right in. Steve had seen no other choice but to go in right after him, and that’s how they wound up where they are right now. The neighbor’s nanny apparently gave birth to three little kids, the smallest of which Bucky is currently holding. 

He’s a tiny little fellow, barely bigger than some of the cats that used to run around the city when they were growing up. He’s also a pushy little bastard that has a bleat about as big as his bite and fur covering him that’s white as snow- a pushy little bastard who apparently is already Bucky’s favorite despite the fact he’s tried to take a chunk out of his hair at least twice. 

The kids Steve is holding where he’s sat in a cleaner corner of the hay (which was pretty damn hard to come by) are a lot calmer in comparison, the one on the left the same color as her brother but with black spots and the one on the right colored to look like salt and pepper. The female one has been headbutting Steve on and off for the past half hour. Her other brother is just standing there twitching his nose. 

For some reason, Bucky is bouncing the kid he’s holding like it’s an actual human baby and not a goat. Steve snorts, but doesn’t say anything. It’s kind of endearing. He bets Bucky saw his Ma do the same with his little sisters growing up. Steve can’t say that he saw the same, but seeing Bucky do it now is good enough, even if it does make his heart feel kind of strange. 

This isn’t the life Steve ever thought he’d see them live. Growing up, he didn’t expect to be alive at this age, though he figured he’d have to see Bucky get married to a woman at some young age- but that was before they both went to war. Then he spent every day thinking neither of them were going to be alive after a while at all. On the rare occasions he did let himself daydream… he saw them in the city in an apartment that they still shared a room in together, just slightly more spacious. Somewhere where they could be bachelors on the outside and be together when they stayed in. 

In an idea world, somewhere where they didn’t have to let anyone else in their little world at all. It wasn’t something he let himself think about often. After all, he was supposed to be staying strong. 

Being back with Bucky now has made him feel like he’s letting himself get weak, in a way. Or at least like he’s letting those walls down that the ice had given him plenty of time to grow up, even while he wasn’t allowed to grow up himself at all. He’s still stuck between twenty six and a hundred. Bucky may have settled on thirty two, but Steve can’t say he’s gotten into the pattern of seeing himself do the same. _Twenty seven._ The same age Bucky was for the fall. Life has moved on for him, but for Steve… sometimes he wonders if he’d rather it not. 

This new world is strange. He still doesn’t know where he’s supposed to stay, but this place… it’s nice to see that whatever world he ends up in, it’ll be somewhere where Bucky finds peace. It’s nice to know that he’ll be a part of it. 

Bucky’s always saying Steve has a habit of getting lost in his own head, an observation only proven to be accurate when he has you call his name to get his attention twice. “Steve,” he tries. Then, after a second, “ _Stevie.”_

Steve looks up at him and blinks, absentmindedly petting both goats he has with him on their heads. Bucky is still bouncing the little guy. “What is it, Buck?”

Bucky’s grinning crookedly enough for Steve to know there’s either a line, something lewd, or a laugh coming. Considering they’re surrounded by animals, he expects the latter. He gets it when Bucky snorts before he even says anything at all. “What would you say about me naming this little guy after you?” 

Steve narrows his eyes and brushes his hands off on his pants before getting up and going over to him so he can get a closer look at the said _little guy_ himself. “Are you saying that because he’s the _runt?”_ he asks incredulously. One glance at Bucky’s grin getting wider is all he needs to know the answer. It’s affirmative. “ _Buck.”_

Bucky ignores his protesting and moves his ponytail out of the way before it can get bitten again. “How about Punk?” he suggests slyly. Then, pretending to think, “Little Shit?” Steve gives him an unimpressed look and his grin goes crooked again. “Stevie?”

Steve huffs and picks a piece of stray goat hair off of his shoulder. Bucky’s an asshole. Apparently he always is going to be. “You’re trying to pawn my nickname off on a goat?”

“Aw, sugar,” Bucky croons, crowding closer with the unnamed kid still cradled in his arms. He holds him between them so Steve is forced to look down at his little furry face. He _is_ cute, at least. “You’ve still got plenty of names left on my book.” That’s true. Bucky always has a million and more coming from his mouth- case and point, the one he uses now. “You’re still my sweetheart.”

That makes the tips of Steve’s ears burn a little brighter even after all this time. He went a while without hearing it, so he thinks he’s allowed to be a bit too happy about having it now. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to argue about Bucky naming a goddamn _goat_ after what he’s been calling him since they were teens. “How about we compromise and settle on Roger?”

Bucky huffs out an amused breath as he bends down to let the little guy go join his siblings on the other side of the pen. “Roger? Really?”

“What’s wrong with Roger?” Steve defends. It’s his last name, after all. The only thing of his Ma he had left and the only thing he ever had from his father at all. 

Bucky must see something in his face that says to quit teasing about it, because he relents and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and kisses him in a way that would better be reserved for somewhere romantic like the rain than it would be for a goat’s pen. “It’s a fine name.” He kisses him a second time on the forehead before they turn to all three kids to watch them trot around. “Roger it is then.”

Steve smiles and leans onto Bucky’s shoulder, feeling oddly sappy but still dumb enough to joke. “Roger that.”

Bucky smacks the side of his head with the flat of his flesh hand yet again. “ _Really,_ Rogers?” He pauses. “I’m talking to you, not the goat.” Another pause that he spends playing with the hair on the nape of Steve’s neck. “Though I think you’re just as stubborn. 

It’s Steve’s turn to smack him at that, a motion carried out with a smile that in the moment feels like it will never fade away. 

-

Unfortunately, that smile does fade by the time they get back to the hut and see what’s awaiting them up ahead. Or rather, _who_ is awaiting them. It’s a woman that he hasn’t seen before with a shaved head and a severe expression only added to by the brightly colored armor that adorns her body, as well as the spear that’s held straight by her side. Steve doesn’t know her, but Bucky must, because he’s calling her name as soon as they get close enough to make out her face. 

“Ayo,” he greets, friendlier than Steve would expect for a woman who looks so fierce. “Did someone send you?”

Ayo nods curtly, but she also offers them a small smile. Steve wonders if she and his future self are familiar with each other. “I have word from the king. He has requested for you and Captain Rogers to meet with him and the princess in her lab.”

Bucky frowns, and Steve can feel him stand up straighter, arm whirring where only they can hear, which only serves to get Steve’s apprehension to grow. “Is everything okay?”

“I was not privy to that part of things,” she says, spear shifting in her hand while something in her expression softens the slightest amount. “But Princess Shuri seemed very satisfied with herself when I left.”

Steve’s stomach twists at the words, having a suspicion about what they mean. “That’s great,” he says faintly while feeling like he’s going to faint himself. It should be great if they have good news for him, so why does he feel like running back into the hut to hide?

Bucky doesn’t say anything at all for a minute, mouth pressed into a firm line. His expression looks grin, but when he sees Steve looking at him, it loosens. For his benefit, Steve is betting. Bucky has always been good at putting on a happy face. “If you’d give us a moment to clean up, we’ll be right behind you.” They do smell like farm animals still, after all. Steve doesn’t suppose that’s the sort of thing fit to go see the king. 

Ayo bends her head in acknowledgement. “As you wish.”

Steve follows Bucky towards the hut, all while his head feels like his thoughts are caving in, but he can’t spiral for too long when Bucky grabs him by the shoulders and spins Steve to face him as soon as they step inside. 

“Steve,” he says firmly, and the fear in Steve’s stomach ceases for the few seconds it takes for Bucky to speak. “Sweetheart. Stop whatever you’re thinking for now, okay? We don’t even know what they’re going to have to say.” He’s not technically lying, but it’s not the complete truth. They know what the answer to this situation was always supposed to be. 

As usual with them, it was only a matter of time. 

For the sake of not forcing Bucky to babysit him through yet another freak out, Steve takes in a shaky breath and nods. “I’m okay.” He’s not really sure he is, but they need to be on their way. He can pretend. He’s still good at that, even if he’s one day out of practice. 

Bucky smiles reassuringly and squeezes his shoulder. “You’re okay,” he repeats, like he’s trying to get Steve to believe it. 

It’s a nice try, but it doesn’t fully work. After that attempt, he turns away and pulls some of the spare clothes from the satchel he’d packed but not used earlier, tossing a clean shirt and some jeans rather than cargo pants at Steve while choosing a similar outfit for himself. 

Steve has to hop a little to get into the jeans. Jesus. He hasn’t worn pants this tight since he was on stage having to wear _actual_ tights. They end up being a little loose around the legs and too snug on the ass, but they don’t require a belt, so he accepts them as okay. By the time he has the henley Bucky had given him on to go with them, Bucky is already dressed and ready to go. 

Steve almost stops him before they exit the hut to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind, but he doesn’t ask him. He just stops himself when the realization hits that he doesn’t have any things to bring with him at all. He doesn’t say anything about that, either. 

Ayo is waiting as promised outside, and when she sees them approaching, she picks her spear up and seemingly gets ready to move. It’s right down to business, then. Steve makes a point to himself about not ruining the mood as they march up, but he doesn’t join in much when Bucky and Ayo strike a conversation up. Bucky asks about Aneka, who apparently is her partner. Romantically, from how the woman speaks of her. She says she’s doing fine, but is currently mad at her for besting her in a fight.

Steve can relate to that. He can’t count how many times he’d wanted to pitch a fit at Bucky for punching him down when teaching him how to try and hold his own in a fight while in the ring, but he’d give anything to be able to bring Bucky back with him to Goldie’s now. He’d throw every match if it meant it was with the older man. 

He spends the entire walk up in silence. Bucky and Ayo are kind enough not to point out the lack of words, and by the time they reach the palace and she sees them off at the gates, the only six he speaks to her come out gravelly. “Thank you for the escort, ma’am.”

Bucky smiles and brings his hand to rest over the small of his back, stroking when he offers up thanks of his own. “We appreciate it.”

She nods her head. “It was no hardship. Please tell the king my orders are complete.” 

And with that, she’s off, and the two of them are now left standing alone to walk inside and upstairs to what Steve feels like is going to seal his fate. He hopes he’s wrong. He doesn’t think he will be. Either way, he’s about to find out. 

Bucky doesn’t remove his hand even when they make it through the doors and start towards the hallway that leads to Shuri’s lab. The touch is gentle and grounding, but even that can’t completely calm Steve’s nerves down. Bucky looks like he’s having some nerves of his own.

In contrast, when they finally set their sights on Shuri, she’s practically beaming. Her voice is just as bright. “Gentlemen,” she says, stepping around the table she was behind to come closer. T’Challa is standing quietly in the corner, hands clasped behind his back. “I have good news.”

Steve can already feel his stomach sinking, mouth drying up with words he doesn’t want to have to get out. “What is it?” he manages. He crosses both arms over his chest with his hands tucked under in the way Bucky always says looks like a hug he’s giving to himself. 

It’s a good thing he is, because what Shuri says next makes him feel like the entire world is dropping out from under him once more. 

She smiles and looks so proud Steve is almost ashamed of being positive, but all that drains away when she drops news on him far too heavy for her tone. “Congratulations, Captain,” she tells him. “Tomorrow you’ll be going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha! ha!


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s eyes are the ones that are closed now, chest heaving a little too hard for what should be normal breathing. He has to spend a few seconds controlling it before he can respond, and even when he does, the words come out rough. “I have to go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sex scene is in fact in the latter half of this chapter but i tried to make it a little less ... descriptive than i usually would. i think steve cries again in this chapter but what else can we do! i’ll probably post the last chapter later tonight because tfatws is coming out soon!!!
> 
> (ps: i dont care about all the technicalities of my time travel explanation but i tried my best. six seasons of the CW flash and watching captain marvel 10x will do that to you.)

Maybe it’s a bit of a dramatic metaphor considering his past, but Bucky feels like he’s been hit by a train. Maybe not even a train. A plane? A quinjet? He can’t think of anything larger but he knows that even if he could, the completely crushed expression on Steve’s face would still make this feeling worse. He doesn’t just look crushed. He looks completely devastated. Bucky can’t blame him. 

He knows this was always supposed to be the solution to him coming here, but it was a reality Bucky knew they were both avoiding, but now it’s one that they can no more. Steve is going home, and he’s going home alone. 

Shuri, gods bless her, doesn’t seem to notice how badly Steve has taken her intended to be good news. Bucky can’t blame her. She’s sixteen, and it’s not like she knows how bad things are for Steve back where he comes from. “The key,” she’s saying, “Was looking into those particles I pointed out upon the initial analysis. Not detrimental, but definitely not supposed to be there.”

Steve is standing so stiff next to Bucky, Bucky can practically feel the urge to freak out vibrating off him. That shield is going back up, and it’s working in double time based off of how forcibly calm his words come out. “What were they?” He’s asking questions, but that isn’t necessarily a sign that would be much better than falling into absolute silence. Steve has always pushed himself into being overly productive with whatever work in front of when he’s feeling his worst. 

T’Challa is stepping closer, but his expression is more cautious than his sister’s. He’s always been good at being level headed, and Bucky says that as someone who was once on the wrong end of receiving his wrath. “Fragments from the matter of what was once inside the device you called the Tesseract.”

Steve stiffens even more, if possible. He probably hasn’t talked about that device since he drowned in the plane he crashed to take it down. “What?”

Shuri is back to being the one with the answers, but she backs off the excitement the slightest amount with a look from T’Challa that passes between them. “We suspect that because you spent so long with the device underwater, before it burned through the bottom of your ship, it had an effect on you that went unnoticed by the technology from back in your time when you were woken up.” She smiles again, but it’s soft. “No disrespect to this Director Fury, but our abilities greatly exceed what those scientists would have been able to do back then.”

T’Challa is speaking then as well, one hand on Shuri’s shoulder as he casts a slightly concerned glance to where Steve looks almost queasy. Bucky doesn’t feel the best himself, but he discreetly checks around them for the nearest trash can just in case. “The device and matter it contained are mentioned in several variations of mythology around the world and in our records,” he ignores the dirty look Shuri shoots him at revealing what was most likely supposed to remain a secret, “and most of them have one thing in common.” He pauses and puts his gaze directly on Steve, probing and gentle all at once. “If the bearer of the Tesseract wishes to go somewhere, the Tesseract will open a portal in space that takes them wherever it was that they wanted to go.”

There’s silence then quieter than when Bucky first suggested time travel as the explanation to begin with. He’s not sure if this makes more or less sense, but with what they’ve already seen, it isn’t that far fetched. But for Steve… he doesn’t seem to believe it. He doesn’t seem to _want_ to believe it. 

“What?” he whispers, moving his head to dart his eyes between all of them like he’s waiting for them to reveal this as some sort of sick joke. “How is that possible? I have the serum, but I don’t have- I don’t have _powers_.” He sounds like he’s struggling to even get that word out. 

Bucky has to close his eyes for a second, but when Shuri starts to speak, he opens them up to focus. They can’t both freak out. This isn’t fair, but when are things ever for the two of them?

“Not powers,” Shuri agrees, but she still looks serious about what else she’s saying. “But… abilities. The fragments are very faint, but they have enough energy still in them so that if you desire something enough- they _will_ help take you to where you wanted to go.” 

Bucky almost has to turn towards the trashcan himself upon hearing that. He can picture the situation she’s suggesting already- Steve, stumbling out of the gym with hands still freshly bloody, on his way back to his apartment hurting so badly that a part of himself he hadn’t even known existed realized how much he longed for home. How badly he wanted to be somewhere safe with Bucky once again where he wouldn’t have to get by all on his own. Somewhere where he wouldn’t be alone.

He has to try Steve’s method of throwing himself into the mission, then, asking a question like he wants more details about this explanation when really he doesn’t want to hear it at all. “Why take him to the future and not the past?”

Shuri looks at T’Challa before she answers, then back at Bucky with the same careful expression she’d work upon seeing him after he first woke up. “We have an answer, but we don’t have all of them. That’s something outside of what science alone can say.” That part came from Steve’s brain, she must mean. Steve wanted _him_ back, but he didn’t want to go back. 

He doesn’t even want to go back now. Bucky can see it written across his face, even while he’s trying to be stoic and strong the same way he always was after he came home from another lost fight that he fought when he was small. With the way he’s hunching his shoulders in, he looks sort of small in this moment too, but his voice still comes out putting on that commanding Captain America timbre. “What will you be using to send me back?”

Shuri’s feathers look slightly ruffled by him taking that sort of tone in her lab, but another touch from T’Challa to her shoulder settles her enough to answer, simple and straight to the point. “We’ll simply extract the matter that made you able to come here in the first place, and then we’ll use its controlled power to send you back home. Right to the moment you left from, not even a second’s difference.”

Steve’s voice is back to being small, and Bucky can’t hold back anymore from touching him, not when he’s afraid of how much longer it’ll be before he can no longer do it anymore. He slips his flesh arm around Steve’s narrow waist right as he’s saying “You can do that?” 

_You’re_ going _to do that?_ Bucky can tell he wants to say. 

“We can,” T’Challa interjects softly. “We must.” Upon a questioning look from Bucky, he hurries into a further explanation. “The longer that Captain Rogers remains here, the more dormant the matter in him will become.” He looks apologetic for what he has to say next. “The less he will want to go back to where he’s from. If his desire can no longer feed into the energy by the time we take the fragments out, the opportunity to send him home will be gone.”

Steve _doesn’t_ want to go. This much Bucky knows, and it’s why he has to ask his next question no matter how impossible, how _implausible_ it is to propose. “What happens if he stays here?” 

Steve tries to cut in, the self-sacrificing bastard, but Shuri beats him to it with a shake of her head. “He’s already been missing for two days from the past’s timeline. Two _inconsequential_ days. There’s no telling what the impact will be if he is pulled out of it any longer, let alone for a major event. If we wait too long to send him back to the exact moment he went missing…” She looks apologetic, but goes on anyways. “There’s no telling what will happen to him, or you, or anyone he’s supposed to help.”

Steve’s eyes are the ones that are closed now, chest heaving a little too hard for what should be normal breathing. He has to spend a few seconds controlling it before he can respond, and even when he does, the words come out rough. “I have to go back.”

Clenching his jaw, Bucky tries to shake his head, already hopeless enough to know that what they’re saying has to be done, but trying to hold out anyways. Steve can’t see Bucky just let him _go._ He has to at least try and hold on a little longer. “Steve-“

“ _No,_ Bucky.” This time the stubbornness in his voice is all Steve Rogers, no traces of Captain America anywhere in sight when Bucky turns to study his face with eyes that just can’t seem to hold still. “I have to. You know I have to.” His voice breaks when Bucky cups the side of his face, but he goes on as fierce as ever. Bucky’s sweet, feisty spitfire of a boy always helping even when it hurts. “I don’t… _want_ to go, but there’s nothing else we can do.” 

“Steve-“ Bucky tries again, but Steve stops him a second time. 

“You don’t get to take this choice away from me.” He fixes him with a look Bucky can tell is fighting to stay even from eyes also fighting to stay dry. “It’s not your price to pay.” It’s like a slap to the face, having his own words thrown back at him like that, but Bucky knows that’s the point. Steve is trying to push him away. 

Like _hell_ Bucky is going to let him for what little time they apparently have left. He puts his other hand on Steve’s face as well, sometimes he wouldn’t usually do when they have an audience- but right now, he just can’t find it in himself to care that Shuri and T’Challa are standing there watching while they come to terms with what they probably should have known all along. “Sweetheart…”

“Buck, it’s gonna be fine,” Steve says, but his voice is thick. “This is just what has to happen.” Turning to the other two people still beside them, he clears his throat and tries to change the subject, but it isn’t to anything lighter. In fact, it might be even heavier. “Will I… be able to…”

 _Remember_ , he’s going to say. Bucky can already hear it, and it makes his heart ache something awful. It’s an ache that only gets worse when Shuri silently shakes her head.

Steve inhales shakily. “I won’t be able to remember any of this.” He says it not as a question this time, but a fact, because they both know that’s what it is. 

T’Challa tips his head and looks down at the floor like he’s giving them a moment to mourn the news before he replies. “With the matter no longer in you, when you go back, the energy will not be able to keep the memories of your time here intact, nor any physical changes,” he murmurs. It’s quiet enough in the lab for him to keep his voice low, and the somberness of it makes the silence almost overwhelming. “Your return should register to you as nothing more than a lost moment. A blip.”

Steve’s breathing is getting shakier by the second and Bucky is almost afraid he’s about to run out the same way he had at the farm when finding out he survived the fall. For now, he stays in place, but there’ll be no promise of what will happen if there’s another panic attack. “But Bucky will remember,” he says, so soft it’s barely above a whisper. “And the Steve that’ll stay here. They’ll remember that I came?”

It’s the first good news that has actually come from what was promised when Shuri nods. “Of course,” she answers. “We won’t be turning time back for what has already happened here. We’ll merely be sending you back to yours so what needs to happen so we can get here will come to pass.”

Steve doesn’t look any happier, but something in him seems to settle at the promise that his time here will remain, even if only a small piece. Bucky wishes he could feel the same, but all he can think about is how sending Steve back means he’ll be alone. It means he’ll be hurting. It means he won’t have a _home._

Steve is the one who has to forget this time. It feels like the worst kind of irony. Bucky went to war and Steve followed. He fell, and then Steve did too. Bucky forgot, and now… Steve is going to do the same. Soulmates who share the same fate no matter how fucking far they have to go to find each other. It’s so painful it’s almost poetic, but Bucky has never been one for that type of prose. The best words he can think of are those that he always shares with Steve. 

Steve, who is still standing next to him, looking like his entire world has been shattered apart. Because it has been. _Again._ Three times, this has happened to him now. How many times can Bucky lose him? How many times can Steve keep being forced to let go? “How long do I have left here?” he asks dully, hands dropping to his sides as he turns completely and forces Bucky’s hands to do the same off of his face. 

Shuri glances down at one of the screens set up on her work table. “Tomorrow afternoon,” she supplies. “Almost twenty four hours, but we’ll need to take the fragments of the Tesseract out now so we can begin to harness them in order for this to work.”

Steve is silent, so Bucky speaks up. “Will it hurt?” Steve doesn’t even complain about the obvious overprotection, only continues to stare at the floor like he’s trying to make sure it doesn’t fall out from under his feet. 

“No,” Shuri promises. “It’ll be a simple procedure. We’re obtaining the energy of the matter, but not actual physical pieces, so nothing will even break skin.” She smiles again and moves her hand. “Like before, merely a wave of a wand. Only this time, a little bigger.” 

Steve straightens and Bucky can see him visibly tense. It’s like he’s back at bootcamp, a soldier stuck standing at attention while he waits for the other shoe to drop. “Where do you need me?”

“If you’d come with me, we can go get started.” Steve moves to follow Shuri where she’s stepping away, but Bucky stops him before he can with a hand to his arm. Steve can’t just leave without a word. Bucky won’t let them end what little time together they have left this way.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He offers, but he already knows the answer. Sure enough, Steve shakes his head and Bucky sighs. “I won’t leave the palace while you’re stuck here, okay? Since you don’t want me with you…”

Steve’s face shutters the slightest bit. “I want you with me,” he whispers. “Just… not for this.” Shuri is standing at the edge of the room waiting while T’Challa has walked god knows where, so Steve doesn’t protest when Bucky pulls him in for a tight hug, one hand clasping behind his head while the other rubs at his back so they can breathe each other in. Just like always. Steve holds on so hard Bucky doesn’t know how he’ll ever let him go. Eventually, though, he has to. Steve is the one that makes the choice to step away, trying to offer Bucky up one of the saddest smiles he’s ever seen. 

Bucky tries to smile back, but he can already see that Steve’s going to start breaking if he doesn’t get out of here soon. So he steps away too with a quick kiss pressed to Steve’s mouth that makes his eyes water when it ends. “I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done, okay?” It’s not much of a comfort, but it’s all he has to give him. 

“Okay.” Steve takes in a deep breath and nods, ducking his head after and turning to follow Shuri out the door and down the hallway. 

Bucky stares at his back until they’re both out of sight, and then, he’s left alone in the lab. Or at least he thinks he’s alone until T’Challa steps out of one of the side rooms and comes over to stand beside him in silent companionship. Bucky can’t find it in him to speak, so he’s glad when T’Challa does it for him. 

“Shuri estimated earlier that collecting the fragments would take an hour or two.” He glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “There’s nothing you can do locked up in this room.”

Bucky sighs, knowing he’s right, but not knowing what else he’s supposed to do. The other man clearly has a suggestion, from the sounds of it. “Is there somewhere else you’d like me to wait, your Majesty?”

T’Challa hums and leaves him hanging for a moment, only answering when Bucky turns to face him. “Ayo is down at the training room.” He gives Bucky a long look. “And you seem like you are maybe in need of a fair fight.” Something Bucky can go up against and try to _win,_ he must mean. Once again, he’s right. 

When it comes to the situation with Steve, that’s something with impossible odds. The only thing he can do is let Steve make his choices and make sure he stays safe. He can’t fight for him. He can’t give in. He definitely can’t _win._ T’Challa is offering him the chance to burn off some steam and talk to a friend. 

Steve’s always needed a few of those, and Bucky has too. He nods, taking the offer. Ten seconds later, he turns and heads down to the gym. 

-

As promised, Ayo is waiting there for him, already changed into the standard black tank and pants that are standard for those who come down here to spar. There’s a pile of similar clothes that she points Bucky to sitting on the bench. “I’m ready to begin whenever you are, Sergeant Barnes.” Her tone is already challenging him. 

He tips his head in greeting and goes to grab the clothing, ducking into the changing area to switch clothes as quickly as he can before stepping out. The mere preparation for a fight has a conditioned sense of calm sinking in. 

He and Ayo have sparred more than a few times before, so getting into the position to face her on the mat isn’t one that’s unfamiliar. Normally, Bucky would be more polite about it. Ask her how she and Aneka are doing, if her father is doing well, whether the new recruits she helps oversee are struggling with their own training. He doesn’t do any of that now, but she doesn’t complain about it. She was with them when they first found Steve and delivered the message to bring him back up. She’s a smart woman. She has to know something is up. 

Bucky’s in a bad mood, but that doesn’t mean either of them will allow for that to be taken out on her. This fight isn’t about that- that’s the whole point. It’s something different. Something Bucky doesn’t have to bring back upstairs to Steve when all the anger is still there but the need for aggression is burned out. Bucky isn’t angry at Steve, or Ayo, or Shuri, or anyone else. He’s angry at the universe. He’s angry at himself for accepting that there’s nothing else he can do. 

They face each other and Ayo smiles, a signal that lets Bucky know they’re about to get started. She tells him as much a second later. “Let’s begin.”

The first few minutes of the fight are nothing more than a blur, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s because his brain has been reeling since Shuri dropped the news Steve was going home or because sparring with Wakandans is always this intense. Ayo is one of their best. Bucky often spends their fights in the frame of defense. 

She throws the first punch now, one Bucky blocks with a swipe of his flesh arm and a sweep of his leg to try and knock hers out from under her. It works, but she’s more agile than he is, so it doesn’t take her long to get back up and throw a punch of her own, one that Bucky has to duck under as she also aims to kick. He catches her foot and uses the momentum to push her down to land on her back, the both of them grunting at the force. 

While he stalks closer to her, she somehow finds the time to toss her head back and laugh before rolling back up onto her feet. “Is that the best you’ve got, Sergeant Barnes?” After months of knowing him, she still won’t call him Bucky. Says it sounds ridiculous. Right now, _she_ sounds like she’s taunting him. 

Bucky huffs, not yet out of air, but breathing a bit heavy. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” 

“You’ll need to use more than your _mind_ if you want to win this fight.” She says that, but then tuts at him when he knocks her back using his metal arm, retaliating by being the one to knock him down this time by a long leg used to knock out where the skin is weak behind his knees so he has to tuck and roll his way out of her reach on the rubber floor of the mat. “If you don’t try, you’ll make this too easy.” 

The banter is something they always take up during their sessions on the mar, but for some reason, Bucky can’t find it in him to make up his usual responses. He settles instead for rising to her challenge and throwing everything he can into meeting her match. 

Twenty minutes later, they’re both out of breath and panting, but neither of them have been able to pin the other down. Bucky’s tank is sticking to his chest with sweat, and he can see where there’s beads of it dripping down the sides of Ayo’s neck as well, for once exposed by the lack of her usual coating of armor to cover it. They’ve reached what Bucky thinks is a silent standstill, but he knows better than to think Ayo would be the type of person to back off and give up without reason. She’s just standing there, watching, the both of them moving around each other in circles but gone far past the usual window of waiting to strike.

Bucky blows out a breath and tucks a strand of wayward hair behind his ear before deciding to ask. “What happened to sparring?” he questions, cracking the knuckles of his flesh hand against his thighs while letting the other recalibrate though repositioning the plates. 

Ayo shrugs and continues to survey him. “What fun is a fight when your partner is merely playing the game to throw a couple punches? You could get that from a bag.” Her eyes narrow as she comes to a complete stop, one hand on her hip. “I have better things to be doing with my time than babysitting a grown man.”

Bucky scowls and turns to get off the mat and back over to where he can sit on the bench, hissing when he hits a still healing bruise on the back of his thigh. “No one has a bullet to your brain trying to keep you here.”

Ayo scoffs and joins him, though she opts for the edge of the mat rather than to sit by his side. “Well, technically the king did ask me to come in here and see if you wanted to train, but… “ She shrugs and begins to wipe her face off with the towel Bucky tosses over. “I stayed in here to see if you were okay because you’re my friend.” She gives him a faint smile. “ _Bucky.”_

Bucky makes a face at the sound of her saying his name- it does sound a little stupid coming from someone as generally serious as her- but then smiles tiredly too. It’s nice to know he has someone in his corner who is concerned, even aside from those that are upstairs. “Thank you.” Then, after a second, “I’m sorry that the fight was… distracted.”

“If you want to talk about it, I don’t think I’ll be able to give you much advice,” Ayo says bluntly, which is true. She doesn’t have all the details of the situation, which is hard enough to understand even for those that do. “But I _can_ listen.” She tugs the towel around the back of her neck and looks up at him with another small smile. “And then sometime later, you can listen to me.”

“What, you’ve got girl problems?” Bucky teases, relenting at the unimpressed look she gives him. “ _Woman_ problems.”

She still looks unimpressed, but rolls her eyes and makes a _carry on_ gesture at him with her hand. “Speak.”

And Bucky does, though it takes him a few moments to really feel able to dig down into the grit of it. Like he said, it’s complicated, so he doesn’t give her the details so much as a summation of the problem. 

“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to say goodbye so easily without making him feel like I’m choosing my other options over him,” he eventually says. “But I also don’t want to make it harder on him to go.” He shifts and spreads his legs as he resituates, picking one of his own hairs of the fabric of his pants waiting for a response.

It only comes after a few minutes of silence, and for a molent, Bucky’s not sure she’s going to answer at all until she speaks. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, you know,” she murmurs. “With stars in your eyes. He’s as much your love as Aneka is mine, and I think that’s something they both know even without it being said.” She’s silent for another few seconds, choosing what words to use next while drumming her heel into the gym floor so the sound echoes around the otherwise empty room. “You’ve welcomed him here best you can, have you not? Into your heart, your home.”

Bucky wants to argue for a second about how Wakanda isn’t _his_ that he could truly welcome Steve here in the first place, but he knows that’s not what she means. Steve had been thrown here and even without fully knowing this version of him, Bucky had taken him in as his own. Because that’s what he _is_ , no matter what time he’s from. “I have.”

“Then why would he think that for one _second_ that you wanted to let him go?” Ayo’s voice is as soft as he’s ever heard it, and though it’s unyielding, Bucky can feel the message of what she says start to sink down in his skin. She’s apparently not done yet, either. For someone who said she wasn’t going to offer any advice, she’s giving him plenty to take. “That man knows you love him. He also knows that your love will always _be_ his home.” 

A hush falls over them after that, during which Bucky contemplates what’s just been said. Bucky has loved Steve since he was thirteen years old, and a lot of damn things have happened between then and now. A lot of things have changed, but the core of who they are and how they love weren’t some of them. Steve’s still stubborn as hell and Bucky’s still overprotective. He’s still as much of a tease as Steve is a punk. They’ve been each other’s homes since they were old enough to have a concept of what it’s like to be on your own. 

Bucky just wishes Steve were always able to know he hasn’t been on his own since. 

But like Steve can’t save Bucky from his fate of becoming the Soldier, Bucky can’t save Steve from what his fate takes to carry them to that point in the first place. These things… they have to happen to bring them both home. 

They get lost, they can always be found. 

Fifteen minutes later when Shuri rings him on his watch, Bucky knows it’s time to go find Steve Rogers again.

-

Steve turns out to be waiting for Bucky in his unofficial palace chambers, the place where Bucky had first stayed in with the Steve that had been present in Siberia before he chose to go under and that Steve up and went on the run. He’s still running. Running from what, Bucky isn’t always sure, but he can only hope that it’s never from him. 

This Steve, the one that’s still bleach blonde with a smooth face and slightly more supple skin- he isn’t moving at all. He’s almost completely motionless when Bucky walks in, sitting on the side of the bed and staring at the painting that’s been put up beside it. Bucky knocks before fully entering. It might be sort of his room, but he’s spooked Steve enough before, and he’s not sure what state of mine the procedure might have left him in. 

When Steve turns, Bucky prepares himself to find out. 

He looks tired, is Bucky’s first thought, but not in physical appearance so much as his experience. His face is just… drained. Something has been sucked out of him that’s more than just whatever was left from the Tesseract. _Hope,_ Bucky realizes. That’s what’s been lost. He’s heading over to the bed before a single word can even make it out of either of their mouths. 

Bucky quietly sits down beside him. Steve still doesn’t speak, not even when Bucky slips an arm around his back and guides his head as gently as he can to rest on his shoulder that’s still made of flesh. Steve goes into it without a fight, which makes sense. Bucky doesn’t think he has much fight in him left. 

When Steve finally speaks, it’s with a defeated whisper. “Shuri said that by noon tomorrow, everything should be ready to go.” Bucky has no doubt that that’ll be true. Shuri’s the smartest person he’s ever met. Everything _will_ be ready to go- everything but Steve. “They offered to let me stay tonight at the palace, but…” Steve chokes out his next words like he’s worried they’re going to get stuck in his throat. “I don’t want to. I want to go back down to the hut. I want to-“ And then his words really do get stuck, because what ends up coming out instead is a sob. 

Bucky is shushing him before he even gets both arms up to hug him, but he doesn’t think it’s effective when he feels like joining in on said sobbing himself. It’s not fair. It’s not right. But it is what has to happen. That doesn’t mean Bucky won’t still be taking care of Steve in the meantime, though, hence how he’s still holding on tight even as Steve tries to push him off and fight. “Baby,” Bucky tries, but Steve just thrashes harder, and Bucky isn’t even sure why. “Steve!”

Steve’s eyes are shot and nose a mess when he finally lifts his head, but doesn’t answer past a weak “ _get off me”_ that hurts Bucky beyond words to hear, but doesn’t make him listen. Steve’s shields have never been for him besides the one picked up after Azzano. Bucky’s was his shield before that. His protector. And Bucky promised to himself and to Steve that he was going to treat him _right._

So he holds on and tries to gentle him until half the tears dry and the sobs start dying down. After a while, Steve goes limp, but Bucky can’t be happy about that when Steve is still so upset he’s sniffling. His features twist into a frown, and it’s a second nature he didn’t even know he had to pluck a tissue off the nightstand table and hold it up to his nose, the same one he’d once broken. Bucky doesn’t carry a hanky anymore, but this will have to do. 

“Blow.” Steve doesn’t even bother with a protest this time. He just obeys, but for once, Bucky can’t even tease. He just helps clean Steve’s face off and lets the younger man cry into the cotton of his henley, all while wishing he could take that hurt away and hand it to himself. 

It takes another ten minutes and two more tissues, but eventually Steve does speak, voice deep and wobbly in the way it always is after he cries. He sounds so stuffed up with it that Bucky could mistake him for being sick. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, mouth pressed into a straight line that’s just as shaky as his hands are clutching at the bottom of Bucky’s shirt. 

Bucky raises his eyebrows and tries to discreetly wipe his own eyes under the guise of getting rid of some hair. “What the hell are you sorry for, kid?”

Steve snuffles in again and takes the kleenex Bucky has in hand for himself, still sounding mumbly and slurred even after he takes it down from his face. “Feel like I’ve spent half my time with you these past few days crying.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Guess you were always right when you called me a crybaby.”

Bucky slips his hand up under the hem of Steve’s shirt to rub at the bare skin of his back, hoping the skin on skin contact will soothe him. “You cry on me all you need,” he murmurs, mouth pressing a kiss into Steve’s hair that he doesn’t move from even when he goes on. “It’s been hard on you, honey. There’s no shame in it.”

“Like life’s been easy on _you,”_ Steve says, but he shifts closer into Bucky’s space like he wasn’t just trying to push him away not fifteen minutes ago. That’s just how Steve’s always been, though. The first sign of softness never gets easier to accept when he’s upset. 

_Life hasn’t been easy on me,_ Bucky wants to sah. _But at least I think I’m through it._ He isn’t truly- or completely, at least. He knows healing is a never ending process, but he’s getting to the hind end of his. Steve’s still right in the rough of it. He’s really about to get thrown right in. 

But he doesn’t need to hear what they both already know, not when they only have hours left together. So Bucky just hums and runs his free hand through Steve’s hair, giving him a moment to settle his chest while his breathing begins to calm. Steve has two ways of crying. Sometimes it can last for hours and burn into the night. Other times it comes in bursts after each of which he’ll be alright until the next one comes. It’s pretty clear which one is happening right now. 

He eventually settles on trying to change the subject to something that’ll trigger another round of tears. Not that he minds holding Steve through it, but… Steve deserves something good tonight. “You sure you don’t want to spend the night up here?” He waves his hand around to the rest of the room. “This place is pretty nice. Bet the food is even nicer.” Privately, he wants to go back down to the hut too, but he might as well tell Steve what he’d be missing out on if they do. 

Steve shakes his head and sniffs once more, tissues still crumbled up in his lap. “Bed’s too soft up here. I don’t think I could sleep.” He doesn’t sound convinced he’ll sleep either way, but Bucky isn’t going to argue one of his fella’s final wishes for while he’s here. 

“Okay,” he says softly, still tracing patterns into the small of Steve’s back. “You wanna get cleaned up before we head out?” Steve has always hated crying in front of people, so Bucky figures he’ll want a minute to get composed. The swollen eyes are telling, but a splash of water to the face should do the trick. Steve nods, but Bucky doesn’t let him get up right away, taking a tissue and taking a last pass at Steve’s nose instead. He doesn’t need to, but he wants to, mostly so he has an excuse to kiss the bump on it after. “I’ll be out here. Take however long you need.”

Steve smiles, a tired expression that trembles around the edges. It’s beautiful to Bucky anyways. “Okay.”

However long Steve needs ends up being about five more minutes, and by the time he comes out, he looks more like he’s had a cold than he does like he’s been bawling. His nose is still a little red, but Bucky doesn’t think that can be helped. They can try and blame it on the slight sunburn anyways. 

He stands, ready to go, but first Steve pauses to point at the painting he’d been staring at when Bucky came in. “Are you really vain enough to have artwork of yourself hanging up?” He’s clearly trying to joke, but Bucky has to take a second to study _that_ particular painting before he can answer. 

It’s the one that his usual Steve had once done in the hut. It’s not much in terms of paintings, Bucky doesn’t think- mostly muted colors and rough strokes of a brush rather than anything as complicated as realism- but it’s important to him, he’d say. Sort of special. It was the first time he’d really _seen_ himself in this body and recognized it as his own. Bucky doesn’t come up here often anymore, but half the time when he stops by, it’s to look at the figure of his own body filling the canvas. He’d stayed in here a solid three hours after Shuri finished attaching the new arm. 

He shakes his head with a small smile and turns to Steve so he can go join at his side, aforementioned arm wrapping around his waist so they can stand close while they both survey it. “You’re the one who suggested it, actually. I just hung it up here for safekeeping.”

“Huh.” Steve looks thoughtful this time when he looks back at the painting. “I never knew I was so handy with a brush.” 

“You will be one day.” Bucky reaches down his right hand to slip in the back pocket of Steve’s borrowed jeans and gives his butt a little squeeze just to try and keep him smiling. “Now c’mon. Let’s go down to the hut. It’s almost time for dinner.”

-

Bucky decides that tonight he’ll make Steve something a little more hearty than just soup from the can or some sandwiches. He settles on making a few dishes. The main one being a sausage and potato sheet and the other chicken noodle soup that’s homemade this time, something filling that will leave Steve content after they eat and the hut smelling fragrant while he cooks. He doesn’t ask Steve to help, and unusually, Steve doesn’t offer. He spends the hour it takes Bucky to make their meal curled up on the bed, sat up with his back against the headboard and his hands holding his sketchbook while he pencils something Bucky isn’t sure of in it lazily. 

Actually, that’s a lie. He’s pretty sure (positive) that Steve is drawing _him_ with all the furtive glances and flustered grins that are coming his way every time he turns and Steve gets caught looking. But, seeing as how that’s something he’s long used to, Bucky leaves it be. Steve’s not telling him to stop moving, and far be it from Bucky to tell him to stop doing one of the only other things he’s ever loved. 

Plus, if Steve is leaving tomorrow… Bucky doesn’t mind him making his mark on all the things he can, sketchbook included. He knows it might be stupid, but he’s going to miss him. He already misses the other Steve, but this is something different, something he’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to explain. He knows he has Steve with him always, and he loves all versions of him he’s ever been with equally, but to have to let him go… it hurts. He wants to know that this Steve was with him. When he goes, Bucky wants him to be able to leave something behind. 

Proof, maybe. That this man was _here_ and Bucky held him through the hurt. He helped, and even though Steve won’t be able to recall it himself, Bucky will be able to tell him that he was there even when he felt alone. He’s not alone. He never truly will be as long as Bucky still walks this earth. 

The soup is set to warm over the fire in Bucky’s favorite pot while he pops the sausage and potatoes into the convection oven to roast. Not the most complex way of cooking, but the meat he uses is pre-cooked, and it gets the job done in the end. He adds some apples to the sheet and herbs to the soup, the sweet smell of the two mixed together filling the hut while he works. He goes outside and washes their already dirtied dishes at one point, wanting to get it done before dark and give Steve a little space before Bucky decides to cling on tight for the rest of the night. 

Steve still has the sketchbook in his lap by the time Bucky walks over to bring him his share of soup in a large bowl mug with a spoon already inside and a plate that’s loaded with a generous portion of sausage and potatoes. It’s a warm meal. Comfort food, he’d call it. He hopes it works as well as it does with the other guy. 

Steve smiles at the sight of it, at least, setting the sketchbook to the side so he can accept both dishes while Bucky turns to get his own. “Thanks, Buck,” he says softly. Bucky wants to sigh at the slight sadness he hears there, but realistically he knows there’s no way to get completely rid of it. They just will have to keep it from ruining their night. 

He puts on his own smile when he joins Steve to sit on the bed beside him, Steve scooting to the side the slightest but so Bucky can have more room, both of their legs stretched out so their plates can be put to balance on their laps. They start eating side by side in silence.

Upon his first spoonful of soup, Steve groans, so Bucky mentally congratulates himself on a job well done in terms of making it. The noodles are homemade (though admittedly by his neighbor rather than himself) and the herbs simmered beforehand in butter to make the flavors sing. Paired with the sweetness of the apple roasted potatoes and sausage, it’s everything Bucky was aiming for and more. 

His mother once described to him that food is love. He was only ten years old at the time, so he didn’t really take her too seriously, but nowadays he knows she was right. Food _is_ love- but then again, everything he shares with Steve is. 

They go back and forth a little during dinner about some trivial things, the both of them pointedly ignoring the subject they know they’re going to have to tackle afterwards. It feels a bit like things did during the war. Impending doom. Only this time, they know exactly what that doom is. But, in the meantime, they don’t have to talk about it. Not yet. The night is still relatively young. 

It’s barely eight in the evening by the time they finish eating, but Bucky decides to pamper Steve a little more by pulling out the bars of chocolate he’s had stored away for a rainy day. It may have been sunny outside today, but it somehow still feels right to use it now. 

Steve still looks at him like he’s crazy when Bucky hops back up on the bed and pats his lap as if to tell him to put his head on it. Bucky tells him out loud a moment later, too, and Steve flushes, but goes down easy. He complains when he makes contact with Bucky’s legs, but that’s softened when Bucky begins carding a hand through his hair while using the other to hold up a piece of chocolate to his face. 

“You’re hand feeding me?” He sighs like it’s a hardship, but accepts the sweet and begins to chew, speaking again after he swallows. “You’re ridiculous.” He groans when Bucky flicks him in the nose. “ _Awful.”_

“Awfully in _love_ with you, babydoll,” Bucky croons, cracking a smile when Steve groans again. He’s heard that line at least a million times. “I’m just giving you your dessert.”

Steve swallows another chunk of chocolate and hums, adjusting his head where it’s pressed against the maybe less than comfortable fabric of Bucky’s jeans. “Where’s yours?”

“Mm.” Bucky watched Steve carefully for his reaction to the next line that’s laid out. “Maybe I want _you_ to be my dessert, how about that?”

How about it, alright. There’s no easy way to go about asking something like that after the day they’ve had, but… time is running out, and it’s running out a little too fast. Bucky wants to make his chances to touch this version of Steve and take care of him last as long as they can. He’s thinking about his phone conversation with the other Steve from yesterday when he says it. 

_No one really touched me for years. I didn’t let them. But I’d let you._

Bucky only hopes the Steve he has here with him now will let him too. He’s unsure of whether or not that will happen when Steve freezes with Bucky’s finger and a piece of now melting chocolate up against his lips. 

Steve stiffens, but doesn’t move his head to peer up at him. “You’d want to…” He struggles to finish that sentence. Like Bucky said, not a prude, but definitely not forward. He used to hate even using the word _fuck_ as a verb- he still doesn’t use it now. “You’d want to be with me? Like that? Tonight?” He acts as if the idea is a shock after all the times they’ve lain together before, like they didn’t practically do something similar to it just this morning.

Christ. The bath they took together feels like a lifetime ago. Bucky wishes they could go back. 

_What other time do we have?_ he almost says, but he’s smart enough not to. He opts for something lighter instead. “You’ve always said I’m a dirty old man.” He yanks on Steve’s hair a little to get him to look up, cheeks still flushed from how flustered the suggestion has got him. “Guess now it’s literal.” Then, because he’s a tease but also is sweet on his guy, he says something softer. “I just… I know we haven’t had long together.” Not nearly long _enough._ “But I want to share what I can with you while I can still do it.” Bucky wants to give him this. Bucky wants to give him the whole goddamn _world_ , but that would take time that they don’t have. 

Steve is still looking at him, eyes gone large. He licks his lips, looking a little nervous, but… not opposed. He’s been craving touch like a kicked puppy ever since that portal popped him up practically on Bucky’s lap in the first place, this is about as intimate of a touch as he could possibly get. “And the other guy… he’s…”

Bucky smiles and brushes Steve’s bangs off of his forehead, fonder than ever. He’s so damn self sacrificing, even when who he’s trying to sacrifice something for is _himself._ “You think I’d bring this up if he wasn’t?” Bucky raises his eyebrows at him. “I think it’s safe to say that if you want something, he’d want it too.” That might not be true for _everything,_ but it’s honest as a blanket statement. 

Steve seems to realize that, because the tips of his ears turn red. “Oh.” Bucky huffs out a laugh and Steve hits him half heartedly in the leg, but he still sounds shy when he answers. “I- uh. I’d like that.” He looks like he’d like that a _lot,_ with how his cheeks have started to glow. 

Bucky almost sighs out in relief, satisfaction (and a little something else) already curling up in his stomach at the affirmation that Steve wants this too. Bucky’s relieved, but he’s also still got a reputation to uphold, so he makes sure that his expression turns into a smirk when he strokes his hand down the side of Steve’s cheek. “You’d like what?”

Steve’s eyes flick to the side, then back up to Bucky’s face. He already knows where this is going. He’s well aware just what kind of asshole Bucky is- a bossy one, almost as bad as he himself is out in the field. Not in here, though. Never in here. “You _know._ It was your idea to begin with.”

“I do,” Bucky agrees, grin going broad when Steve groans and decides to shove his face and hide it into his thigh. “And it was. But I just like to hear you say it.”

Steve doesn’t move from Bucky’s leg when he mutters out his response, which makes it come out muffled. Bucky still hears it loud and clear. “Want you to make _love_ to me, you asshole.” He sounds a little embarrassed even phrasing it as sappily as he does. 

Bucky still loves it. Loves _him,_ and all the dumb little quirks that never seem to dull over time. “Well, then, lover boy,” he murmurs back. “You better get a move on and let me.” For a second, Steve just blinks at him, but Bucky just rolls his eyes and nudges him up. “We don’t have all night.”

It’s pretty much all they have, but neither of them want to think about that right now, so it’s pushed to the side right along with Steve’s shirt when he sits up and Bucky takes it upon himself to help strip it off. A few seconds later, Steve shyly helps him do the same, eyes taking in the scars that the tossed to the side clothing reveals. 

Bucky watches him do it, and when Steve hesitates, Bucky takes his hand and brings it up to help Steve touch the scars himself. It’s something the other Steve had done as well. 

_I want to know every new part of you,_ he’d said. Bucky had let him learn. It’s only fair he let this Steve learn too. 

He lets him _feel_ as well, more than just the raised lines. Bucky wants him to feel in his own body, so it’s with no hesitation on his own end that he raises up both hands to Steve’s chest, mismatched metal and flesh laying flat on his skin. It’s a stark difference in sensation, one that Steve lets out a shaky breath at when Bucky brushes intentionally over the peaked up spots on his pecs that have been left sensitive by the serum. They stay like that for a while, sat up on the bed with their pants still and on the fire crackling in the background while they explore the upper halves of each other’s bodies. 

Bucky tries to be patient with it, but eventually, he can’t help but lean in and kiss him, all that smooth skin still under his fingertips and growing warmer when he takes it upon himself to lick into Steve’s mouth. It’s not exactly the most innocent of kisses, not with how they’re both reacting, but it’s intimate and slow. It’s sweet. It’s nice. 

It gets even nicer when Steve gasps out his first small sound at Bucky dropping one hand down from his chest to brush at the bulge in the front of his now tightened jeans instead. He’s responsive. Bucky had noticed this morning, but he’d tried not to think about why. Steve went without touch for too long, but with what they’re about to do- Bucky can sure as hell touch him now. He wants to have him everywhere. 

He pulls back from where their mouths are still touching now, hand on his pants pressing down so Steve knows exactly what he’s referring to when he whispers “Take them off.” Truthfully, there’s not much else he could be referring to, but that’s besides the point. The priority right now is him shucking out of his jeans as well. 

Their underwear ends up coming off at the same time, so when they both come back together for another kiss, they’re both bare from head to toe. Steve’s blush covers about the same area once Bucky flips him to lay on his back with his own body blanketed over top of him, blue eyes blown when Bucky looks down at him with a soft smile. 

“You still want this?” he asks quietly, just to make sure. What’s currently pressing between their bodies gives him a good direction to go in for a guess, but it can’t hurt to check in. 

Steve lets out a soft sigh and settles down lower, legs spreading wide to accommodate the width of Bucky’s waist. “It’s ah- It’s been a while,” he admits, looking a little embarrassed, as if Bucky didn’t already know. “But yeah, Buck. I want it.” He leans forward a little to kiss Bucky’s right shoulder. “I want you.”

Bucky hums and shifts his weight to rest on his knees and prosthetic so he can use his right hand to rub up one of Steve’s thighs instead until it’s sitting in the soft crease of his hip and where his arousal has gone heavy with exactly how much _want_ he’s feeling. Bucky feels it too, and it’s why he doesn’t wait to kiss Steve again, hand going even higher as he does it to wrap around where he knows Steve wants all that touch most. 

Steve can’t fit his hands down to do the same, but the way he’s rocking his hips up into it is more than enough to get Bucky going, and Steve gasping out a moment later as soon as Bucky pulls back from his mouth only gets him going even more. It’s enough for him to draw back completely, having to hush Steve’s unhappy noise at the loss by leaning down for another quick kiss and a laugh. 

“Hold your horses, cowboy,” Bucky teases, reaching over to open up one of the lower dresser drawers without leaving the bed. “You said it’s been a while. Gotta work a little harder to open you up.” 

Steve just grunts, but doesn’t complain as much as he normally might when Bucky tosses the small bottle of lube to land on his chest above where his cock is already wet at the tip with how ready to go the rest of him is. “You calling me uptight?” 

It’s nice to hear him happy enough to have a bit of his attitude back, even if Bucky does decide to put him back in his place. He grins wickedly and balances back on his left arm so he can use the flesh one to flick open the lube’s cap and complete the well practiced maneuver of putting it on his own fingers one handed without making too much of a mess. This silicone stuff is a miracle.

Steve seems to appreciate some of it’s qualities when Bucky starts using it on him to work some magic a moment later, particularly how well it eases the sting when Bucky slips the first of his fingers inside. Bucky isn’t sure if Steve saying _it’s been a while_ applies to how he does things with himself or not, but he doesn’t think that now is the proper moment to find out, not when ten minutes later he’s three fingers inside him and ready to put in something else. Steve is _more_ than ready based off how strong his reactions are, cut off little moans he tries to muffle by turning his head into Bucky’s side of the pillows and breathy sighs when Bucky crooks his fingers just right. 

Once again, Bucky decides it can’t hurt to ask. When he does, it’s in a low voice that’s rough with all the arousal of his own that’s yet to be addressed past Steve trying to rock up into him, legs pulling him in like he’s trying to invite him inside. Maybe he is- either way, Bucky is about to accept the invitation as soon as Steve manages to pull himself together enough to give him the say so. “You ready for me, sweetheart? You ready for me to treat you right?”

He already knew the answer, but he wasn’t lying when he told Steve he likes to hear him say it. Steve does, even though getting the words out sets his face alight. “Please,” he breathes, body clenching up when Bucky tries to pull his hand away like he doesn’t want him to leave. 

Bucky groans then, the gesture nothing but a sign for him of what’s to come. “You don’t gotta ask me twice.” Then, after a second of thought that comes to him a little too late, “You want me to use a rubber?”

Steve makes a sound pitched so high it’s pretty much a whimper, shaking his head like the idea is one that he hates. It is, Bucky finds out, and he hates to hear the reason why. “No,” Steve says, tone almost a beg with how badly he wants to reject it. “I want to remember. Wanna remember this for as long as I can before I…” He swallows and suddenly looks like the urge to cry is coming back to the surface. “Before I have to say goodbye.”

That hits Bucky like a punch to the gut, but what kind of guy would he be to say no to his baby when he asks so sweetly? He can’t. With how hard things have been on them, he _won’t._ But what he will do is slick himself up to get ready to sink inside, all while nodding his head and nudging Steve into another kiss.

“I will love you whether you remember me or not,” he whispers, gaze locked onto Steve’s face and his now shining eyes. “You’ll do the same for me, and sweetheart, we _will_ find each other again.”

Steve smiles, even as his voice comes out wet. “We always do.”

There isn't much to say after that. Bucky is pretty busy lining himself up and starting to push his way into Steve’s body, and Steve is pretty preoccupied lying there and trying to take it without groaning out so loud he has what formerly would have been an asthma attack and takes the hut down with him. Not even that would be enough for Bucky to leave him right now, he doesn’t think. Not when he has Steve so sweet underneath him and so goddamn _tight_ as he takes him inside. 

He gets especially sweet when Bucky finally starts to move, holding on to mismatched shoulders and struggling to stay quiet when Bucky hits the spot inside that always has him seeing stars. Bucky, for his part, doesn’t bother staying silent. Why should he, when he has so much to say?

He starts off with what’s most important, even as he’s still getting into the rhythm of rocking his hips. “I love you.” Them, while Steve is still letting out a particularly satisfied sound, “The goddamn love of my life. Every single one of them, it’s always been you.” He rocks forward again faster, fixing his eyes on Steve’s own so he knows how much Bucky means what he’s about to say. “I’m yours. And you, Steve Rogers- you are _mine.”_ ‘Til the end of the line, just like they’ve always said. 

Steve’s eyes are shining like those stars Bucky said he was seeing before, voice hushed despite the loud moan he lets out before he answers. “I love you,” he gets out, hands holding on tighter the harder Bucky slams home. “Even if I don’t remember this- I’ll remember that.” 

The words come out a promise, one that Bucky can’t find a reason to tell him not to make. So he doesn’t. He just keeps moving, ready to mark Steve as his own and make him finally believe everything is going to someday be fine. It’s a hard fight to get there, but he will. _They_ will. And Bucky will wait until the end of time. 

He at least doesn’t have to wait that long until they both eventually crash over the edge that’s been rising since Bucky first kissed him tonight, a relief that comes when they both do not that far apart, Steve with Bucky’s fist back around him and Bucky with Steve clenching tight up around him, big body yielding where it’s usually as solid as a rock. It’s still just as solid when Bucky collapses down against it once the aftershocks have run their course, but Steve doesn’t look to be feeling the same. Bucky is still in him, but if Steve weren’t already laying down, Bucky suspects that now would be a moment where he’s about to collapse. 

He’s softening enough to slip out, but he doesn’t move. Bucky wants to make sure Steve is ready before he does. Steve doesn’t need more sudden emptiness than today has already made him feel. Steve’s eyes are closed and hairline sweaty, but he doesn’t stir when Bucky uses his left hand to wipe back over his forehead. 

“Stevie,” Bucky says softly, bringing his hand back down to go through the gentle motion again. “C’mon, sweetheart. Look at me.” When Steve does, his eyes are glittering with tears, and Bucky can’t only blame the over sensitivity of still being buried inside Steve’s body when his start to do the same. “Oh, honey…”

“I already miss you so much,” Steve whispers. Apparently they’re going to talk about this now. Freak outs and breakdowns can’t always happen at the most convenient moments, Bucky knows. “How am I supposed to go on again without even the memory of having this now?”

Bucky wishes more than words can say that he could have a real answer to give him, but all he has is what comes from the heart. He offers them anyways and hopes that they’ll at least be of some help. “You have to leave so we can have our happy ending,” he says, ignoring the cooling mess that’s stuck between them so he can focus on how Steve feels instead. “You have to leave so you can come back home.” He tips their foreheads together, noses bumping side by side right below where Steve is marked as Bucky’s down to the bone. 

The first of Steve’s tears start falling again, dripping down to soak into the pillowcase, but he doesn’t try to interrupt, so Bucky goes on. 

“You are going to go back, baby, and I can’t lie. It’s going to be hard,” he says honestly. “You’re going to feel alone, and _angry_ , and go through things that are awful, but you’re also going to meet some amazing people one day.” He wishes he could tell him more about Sam and Nat, but now just isn’t the time. There’s so many things that he’s not sure they have the time for left. “I know you think that there’ll be no one for you until I get back, but that’s not true.” He wipes a tear from his own eyes and then one from Steve’s, the two mixing together like the pain they’re sharing right now. “You need to go back. You need to go back so you can come find me again, okay?”

Steve’s eyes close for so long Bucky starts to get worried, but then, they open. They’re still watering and are filled with a sadness Bucky knows he can’t soak up. But they’re also trusting. Steve believes what he’s saying is true, and really, isn’t that all Bucky can ask for? 

There’s a pause where Bucky can practice feel Steve’s heartbeat pulse around him, the popping of the fire in the back the only noise that fills the room. And then, quietly, almost out of nowhere- “I love you, Buck,” Steve says quietly. “I love you so much I feel weak when I’m not with you.” The last part is said so small it’s like a secret, one that Bucky hears and chooses to disprove. 

“You don’t need to be strong right now, sweetheart,” he promises. “Not for me. You just need to be loved, and I’m gonna do everything I can to make you feel that way.” 

He kisses him after that, and minutes later when he finally moves to pull out so Steve can cuddle up to him while they put off the clean up, he can help but think that loving Steve Rogers is a feeling he never wants to have to lose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our time here is coming to an end...but it will be a happy one i promise.


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want to go,” Steve rushes out, quiet and ashamed like it’s a confession and not something that should be an assumed fact. What person would in his situation? Steve Rogers is the bravest man that Bucky knows. Not wanting to be alone doesn’t change that. “I know I have to and I know- I know one day I’m gonna bring you home, but I don’t want to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will hear no complaints about the ending because this is what was coming the entire time & if this isn’t what you were looking for ... well, some things you have to do yourself! like write an 80k fic in a week.

The next morning when Bucky wakes up, this time, it’s with Steve already up before him. That isn’t an odd occurrence by any means (Steve has always been a little bit more of a morning person) but Bucky still has to blink at him a few extra times when he finally rouses from sleep. He’d made extra sure to shut the curtains last night in preparation for certain… _things_ he’d hoped they’d be doing after dinner. 

With how sated Steve still looks beside him, even the outside eye can see he ended up being right. 

The outside eye can also see that Steve has been awake for quite some time. Bucky would say he’s spent more time on the inside of this man than the outside recently, but he can still see that too. In fact, he sees it and he frowns at it while trying to figure out what Steve is doing. 

He’s curled up again, same as he had been before supper last night, sketchbook back in his lap and everything. Admittedly, his lap is still bare under the blanket he’s using, but that’s besides the point. The point is, Bucky can see his pencil moving. And he’s been watching Steve work with one for so long, that he can tell that what he’s doing right now isn’t sketching. It’s _writing_ , and Bucky is curious to know exactly what. 

It must be a note. For him or the other guy he isn’t yet sure. He doesn’t choose to ask. He’ll find out in the end either way. 

The _end._ After everything it had taken to bring them together, maybe that shouldn’t be so weird of a concept to comprehend, but then again, Bucky is more willing to believe in time travel than he is willing to accept the fact that Steve has to leave. He’s accepted it by now. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

Wasting any of what time he has left with Steve doesn’t feel right, but then again, neither does interrupting what is clearly a personal moment. So Bucky closes his eyes back up and waits, making sure not to move until he can no longer hear the scratch of pencil moving upon paper. It’s when he can hear the sketchbook close that he finally opens them back up and shifts so that Steve can see he’s awake. 

Steve doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he looks more at peace that Bucky has seen maybe since he arrived. It’s good, but also gets him concerned. Calm acceptance from Steve isn’t always a good thing. The Valkyrie had taught them both that. 

Bucky makes sure his voice is just as calm, though. There’s no use in upsetting Steve just because Bucky thinks he should be acting the opposite. “Morning, sunshine. You sleep okay?” It’s almost the same exact way he woke him up yesterday morning, though they know today’s morning is impossibly different. 

Steve still looks calm, but his words come out quiet. “I think so.” He sighs when Bucky’s right hand comes up to cup the nape of his neck, rough calluses catching against blonde baby hairs as Bucky pulls gently as he can to bring Steve down into an equally gentle kiss. It doesn’t heat up with how on edge they’re feeling for different reasons, but Steve still goes into it willingly when Bucky brings him back under the covers just so he can keep Steve caught between them as he rolls his way back on top. 

It’s not meant to be sexual, Bucky doesn’t think. At least not to him, and he’s pretty sure not to Steve either. It’s… security, in a way. That for the time being, Steve isn’t going anywhere. For the time being, Bucky won’t let him. Quite literally, Bucky is holding him down, keeping him safe, keeping him warm. Keeping him here. Keeping him at home. 

When they finally have to break away for air, the breath Steve takes in is shaky. Above him, Bucky’s isn’t much better, but he at least tries to put on a good face so Steve won’t see all that he’s feeling show. “Good morning,” he says again. He’ll say it as many times as Steve wants. A million times before the time comes for it to have to switch to _goodbye._

Steve smiles, but doesn’t try to conceal the sadness in the same way. It’d be hard to anyways with all that Bucky can see burning in his eyes. “Good morning, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t know what else there is to do right now but kiss him again, so that’s what he does, mouths moving insistently and four pairs of hands holding on tight to what they know can only be for a few hours more. The afternoon was what Shuri told them yesterday. It’s always been easy for them to lose track of time. 

They lose a little of it now, but eventually, they both know they have to come back to real life. Steve, surprisingly, is the first to do that, letting out a regretful sound but still pushing on Bucky’s shoulders, the left giving less than the right until Bucky gets with the program and pulls back to see what Steve wants. Steve wants a lot of things, but there’s only a few that Bucky has the power to supply. 

What he wants now is apparently breakfast, a far cry from what Bucky had to do in order to convince him to eat any yesterday. He wants the eggs Bucky offered earlier, evidently. Bucky wonders if it’s just an excuse to get him to leave the hut, but if it is, he lets it be one. Getting dressed and heading to the neighbor to borrow some is no hardship compared to what they know is up ahead of them. 

When he returns with them, Steve is dressed too, back in borrowed clothes that Bucky wonders if he’ll have to change out of when they get back up to the palace. Seeing Steve in those ill fitting ones from before, barely anything in his pockets or on his person… Bucky’s heart is heavy. He tries not to let it weigh him down as he rebuilds the fire and puts a pan on so he can fry their eggs above the flames. He tries not to turn his back to Steve while he works.

Steve had picked up the sketchbook again and is apparently back to actually sketching in it based off of the sounds. The soothing scratch of him doing something he loves in this last little bit of time before leaving should ease Bucky’s mind. It doesn’t. It actually begins to grate on his mervee, but like hell is he going to stop.

The irritation fades away after a while anyways, but it’s back in full force faded away to guilt when he hears a ripping sound instead and turns his head to see Steve holding out a page that is clearly meant for him to take. Bucky frowns and moves to slide their finished eggs on a plate before putting the pan back down so he can get a look at what Steve’s trying to give him, what he wants him to have. Steve has always _hated_ taking things out of his sketchbook. Says the jagged lines ruin how smoothly he’s able to make use of the next page. So what is he giving Bucky now that’s worth breaking the having?

Bucky stands and walks over to the bed so he can take it and sit beside Steve while he sees what this is all about. What he sees… it makes his throat swell up worse than the time he caught bronchitis from Steve when he was fifteen. As usual with Steve’s drawings that are done here, it’s him. It must be the one he had started working on last night before they ate dinner and ended up spending the rest of the night in bed. 

The drawing isn’t anything inherently out of the ordinary for the type of thing Steve usually does, but it’s made special knowing who it’s from and what they were both feeling when he did it. It’s made special because it’s Steve and he did this for Bucky to have something of his left behind when he inevitably has to leave. 

There’s a little more to it than just that, made clear when Steve finally speaks. His hands are clasped tight between his thighs where Bucky’s are spread to hold the sketch. “I figured maybe you could put it up at the palace after I… go,” he whispers, licking his lips nervously like he half expects Bucky to say no. “I know it’s probably nothing compared to the painting, but I didn’t really have the time to…” He trails off. 

There’s a lot of things it feels like they didn’t have the time to do. 

Bucky won’t let Steve think for one second that this picture doesn’t mean just as much as that painting. He sets it down on top of his legs so that it’s still below them when he twists his upper body to wrap Steve in a hug that has both of their breathing starting to shake. A good hug always has that effect on Steve, and today, it has that effect on Bucky too. “I love it,” he murmurs, mouth right next to Steve’s ear and both hands holding on tight. Steve’s hands are doing the same behind him on his back. “I love you.”

“I don’t want to go,” Steve rushes out, quiet and ashamed like it’s a confession and not something that should be an assumed fact. What person would in his situation? Steve Rogers is the bravest man that Bucky knows. Not wanting to be alone doesn’t change that. “I know I have to and I know- I know one day I’m gonna bring you home, but I don’t want to _go.”_

There’s not much Bucky can say besides “ _I know, sweetheart. I know.”_ And he does, because he feels the same. They don’t break the hug after that for a long time. Not even when their breakfast grows cold. 

-

Ayo comes down again in the early afternoon, looking as grave and grim as Bucky is feeling himself. He and Steve have spent the morning sitting outside on the end of the wagon while they talk and try not to say their last goodbyes so soon. Bucky wants his last memories here to be warm while he still has them. He wants Steve to be able to soak in the sun. 

Maybe it’ll help him feel a little less cold once he gets home. It’s a silly, ridiculous sentiment, but it’s one Bucky has anyways. 

As Ayo approaches, Steve looks like he feels sicker by the step, and Bucky can’t blame him. He doesn’t blame her, either, but it isn’t easy being the bearer of bad news, let alone the equivalent of an executioner bringing a prisoner to the place where his fate awaits. In a way, Bucky is glad that it’s Ayo, which is likely why T’Challa send her in the first place. He doesn’t feel any lesser when she sees him looking like he wants to cry. How can he not feel that way when Steve appears to be about two seconds from doing exactly that himself?

He keeps it together, though, by a miracle Bucky doesn’t know how he manages to uphold. It has to be difficult. He makes sure to hold on to Steve a little tighter when Ayo finally enters the gate and gets close enough for Bucky to see the sympathy in her eyes unfold. It’s not something he sees often. It’s not something he’s sure he ever wants to see again. 

“Ayo,” he greets her, voice gravelly. Steve goes very still beside him. 

She doesn’t bother back with a salutation. Instead, she utters two words that come out heart sinkingly simple. “It’s time.” Neither of them have to ask for what. 

Those shields Steve always seems to have on standby shoot right back up as he takes the burden upon those broad shoulders that he has to be strong. Bucky wants to smack that out of him, but he doesn’t. He won’t make him hurt today anymore than he has to. It doesn’t hurt Bucky any less when he hears how hard Steve has to make his voice go so that Ayo won’t be able to hear it shake. “I’ll just need a moment before I’m ready to go.”

“I’m going with you,” Bucky says, his own voice leaving no room for argument even when Steve turns to try and do that anyways. “I’m with you ‘til the end for this too, pal. You’re not getting away that easy.” Steve tries to smile when Bucky shakes his shoulder to sink the message in, but it goes watery when Bucky stands and pulls him up with him so they can head back into the hut. Bucky’s not even sure what they’re going to collect besides the drawing. Steve didn’t bring anything with him, and he’s not leaving much else but the memories behind. 

What they’re collecting, Bucky comes to find, is themselves. Steve starts to crumple almost as soon as they step inside, hand having to scrub over his eyes before Bucky even has the door closed behind them. Bucky goes to him in order to try for some comfort, but Steve stops him with a hand to the chest. 

“I’m fine,” he croaks out. “I’m fine.” He’s clearly _not_ fine. Bucky doesn’t even fucking know why he’s trying to pretend, so he doesn’t hesitate to pull his next punch. 

He moves in to hug Steve anyways, burying his head into his neck. “Yeah?” he says, muffled. “Well I’m not. So gimme a minute to get it together, okay?” It might be a lousy trick to take advantage of, but it’s what works. And it’s not like he’s not telling the truth. He has to let Steve go. How could he ever be fine with something like that?

In any case, Steve falls for it, trick or not, nodding hesitantly before falling into the bear hug and hugging back Bucky just as tight. “It’s going to be alright,” he says softly, still sounding like he’s trying to convince himself of the same thing. “It’s… we’re gonna be alright.”

Initiating the hug under the guise of it only being for himself may have been a sneak tactic, but hearing Steve say that is a reassurance Bucky didn't know he needed. It’s hard as hell having to do this and even harder having to believe that statement is true, but it is. One day they will be alright. Steve just has to go back so he can get them there first. 

Bucky still has to kiss Steve’s hair as he pulls away and pause to look him in the eye. “No matter how this day ends,” he tells him. “That doesn’t mean that we do. You _will_ come back to me, Steve Rogers.” He kisses his forehead and keeps his lips there to murmur out his last words like a promise meant to sink into the skin. “You will always make it back home.” They’re made their way back to each other more than once before, and if need be, they can do it again. 

Steve nods again and doesn’t let go of Bucky until there’s a knock on the door. It’s Ayo. She doesn’t come in, but she does call through to them. 

“Princess Shuri has sent word that we need to make our way up.” She sounds about as apologetic as she gets. “She says it’s almost time to begin.”

They don’t move for a second, but then, they accept that they have to. Bucky doesn’t think he has anything to take with him, but Steve hands him both the drawing and the sketchbook a second later with a small smile that says he should bring up both. “I left a note for… him,” he says quietly. “I know that it may be a little weird for him to read alone, so maybe you could try and read it to him for me?” Over the phone, he must mean. Bucky doesn’t have a solid idea of when the other Steve will be able to come back home. 

He nods anyways. This is something equivalent to Steve’s final wishes. It’s the least he can do to make sure they flesh their way out. “Of course,” he murmurs, taking both in hand.

Steve gives him one last tight lipped smile before turning back towards the door and letting Bucky lead him to it with his free hand resting in its usual spot on the small of his back. When Steve uses his to open up the door, Bucky can see that he’s trying not to shake. They step outside to where Ayo is waiting with her own hand still poised on her spear. 

When she sees them, she tips her head. “Are you ready to go?”

 _No,_ Bucky wants to say, but he knows if he does, they never will be. That’s a dam that can’t break until this deed is done. So instead he nods his head and tries to hold it high when really he wants to let it hang down in defeat. “Ready as we’ll ever be.” That, at least, is honest. Steve doesn’t say anything, and Bucky knows it’s because he doesn’t want to have to lie. He’s even less ready to go than Bucky is read to let him. But he nods as well, so Ayo turns and starts to head out with the two of them in two. 

When they begin the climb up the hill, Bucky tries to make sure that he holds onto the sketchbook tight. And then, because trying his best to be strong but is still only human, makes sure to walk a little slow. Steve walks even slower, but not once does he turn his head to look at the hut as it grows smaller behind them. 

-

Shuri welcomes them once again as soon as they step into the lab after leaving Ayo outside, but this time, she looks a little more somber. Bucky wonders briefly what happened yesterday when she was alone with Steve while trying to remove the fragments for his return, if that was what made her see how hard this is for him to face. Steve didn’t tell him much about the procedure outside of promising it didn’t hurt him. Bucky left it at that. They had more important things to talk about last night. 

Today, Shuri seems to have some important things to say to them as well, mostly a run down of what’s going to have to happen in order to send Steve back home. T’Challa is standing behind the table once again when she walks them up to it, looking just as solemn as his sister. 

“We’ve fashioned the energy into what upon first glance should look like a stone- something solid that Captain Rogers can touch to initiate his return,” she’s saying. “If what you told me about how it looked when he first got here is right, I’d expect a flash of light to go along with him on this trip as well. The portal that pulls him out will be the same as the one that brought him here in the first place, only with a target that’s more honed.” She glances at Steve where he’s hunched in on himself under Bucky’s arm and looks almost sad. 

Bucky hopes she knows that none of what they’re feeling is her fault. He’d tell her, but she’s still going on. 

“One touch to the stone should do it. If it doesn’t… well, I’m not quite sure what we’d do next in that case, but this should do the trick based on what all of our tests have had to say.” She glances at T’Challa, then back at the two of them huddled together. “I’m ready whenever you are, but first Captain Rogers will need to get changed just in case we’ve underestimated what will be different when he arrives.” She gestures to the stack of Steve’s clothes that he came here in, sitting on the table beside her looking just as sad as when Bucky first took them off, even if they are a little cleaner. 

Steve clears his throat. “I’ll go do that,” he manages, but Shuri waves her hand, already stepping to pull T’Challa aside. 

“We need to go check the preparations in the other room. The two of you can remain in here until you’re ready.” She gives them both a smile that Bucky can tell doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s giving them a chance to say goodbye, he realizes. “Take your time.” And with that, the two of them are gone with only Bucky left standing behind. 

They’re both silent for a moment, not sure of what else there is to say, but when Steve makes the first move to take off his shirt, Bucky stops him. “Let me,” he says softly. He got Steve out of his clothes when he arrived here. It only seems right that he gets to help him back inside. 

Steve takes in a shaky breath, but doesn’t protest when Bucky begins to strip him down of his borrowed outfit piece by piece. The shirt goes first, then his socks and shoes, then his pants- pretty soon, all he’s left in is his underwear, and even that isn’t his own. That has to go down too. 

Before he takes that last piece off, Bucky can’t bear to keep from kissing him, so he does despite the fact Steve is almost naked and he is decidedly not. That’s not what matters, not now. Bucky doesn’t care for one second about the clothes. What he cares about is the man who goes inside them, who for now, is still able to go inside his arms. 

This time their embrace isn’t so much a hug as it is Bucky holding them together, Steve’s arms sandwiched between them while he curls in like he can hide in Bucky’s body while his arms are around his back. He’s so small like this. So vulnerable. Bucky is afraid if he holds onto him any hard, he’ll crack around the edges and break. 

They still don’t talk, even when Bucky lets go to start redressing him in his old clothes. He thinks they’re both afraid to say anything. Saying nothing is better in some ways than having to say goodbye. It takes until Bucky is buttoning up that hideous plaid shirt for him to find it in himself to say anything at all, and what he does say ends up coming out hoarse. 

He can hear how rough it sounds even to his own ears. “It’s gonna take your guy a while to catch up, pal, so,” he has to pause just to clear his throat of the urge to cry. “Just… be patient with him huh?” He finishes with the buttons and moves on to his belt next while still speaking. “I know it’s hard to ask considering you’ve never been patient a day in your damn life, but.” He claps a hand over his cheek and meets a pair of very watery blue eyes. “Be patient with yourself, too, alright?” 

Steve’s eyes close when he nods, but he takes in a deep breath that comes out a wet sigh when Bucky kisses over the bridge of his nose. “Alright.” Then, quieter, “I’m gonna miss you Buck. You’ve got no idea how much.”

Really, Bucky thinks he does, but he doesn’t need to say that when Steve is about to have to go back through it. He takes in a deep breath of his own instead, and ruffles Steve’s hair up on top of his head in some semblance of trying to lighten the sense of dread that’s settled over them. “I’m gonna miss you too, kid.” Steve tries to pull away to put his old shoes on, but Bucky once again stops him in favor of keeping him close. “C’mere.” 

They embrace again and Bucky wonders how long it’s going to be until the next time Steve gets a hug. He makes sure to hold on a little extra to help ease what he knows is going to be a long wait. 

Waiting is the name of the game even now. The both of them know that T’Challa and Shuri are expecting them out there soon, but even then, Bucky can’t let him go yet. He can’t let him leave so soon, not without a proper goodbye. They’ve been avoiding it, but the time has come, and Bucky wants to be able to say one with the two of them alone before they step out into that room. 

He’s the one that starts to say it first, cupping Steve’s face in both hands and pulling him close for a kiss that he hopes feels more like he’s sealing their love and less like he’s sealing their fate. Steve falls into it either way, cupping his hand over Bucky’s beard and kissing back so desperately that it digs in something sharp into Bucky’s heart that makes it hurt deep inside where Steve is the only person who ever touches. 

Bucky doesn’t want to say goodbye, but Steve.. Steve doesn’t even know _how_ , Bucky begins to understand. Steve has never really been given the chance. At least not yet. 

Now is not how Bucky wanted him to begin to learn, but it is what it is, and for Steve- it’s about to be how things _were._ Bucky pulls back so they can breathe, but doesn’t pull away. He lets Steve breath him in instead, wanting to surround him for as long as he can. But eventually… eventually it has to come to an end, even though neither of them want to let go enough to allow that to happen. 

Bucky’s not sure he’d ever be able to, so it’s probably best that Steve is the one who does. He kisses Bucky one last time while they’re alone and curls his fingers closer so he can whisper into the space between them before finally stepping away. “I love you.” Then, shaky in timbre but sure in tone, “I’m going to come home.”

Bucky curls his fingers before letting him go too. “I love you,” he murmurs back. “And I know.”

It doesn’t feel like it’s enough, but that's the thing about goodbyes. They never do. Bucky knows that by now, but he still wishes he could let this happen without feeling like he’s letting Steve down. 

Shuri and T’Challa are prepared as promised when they finally join them in the other room of the lab, an area where there’s less tables and more space for experiments and procedures such as this. Though, upon first look, the stone that’s supposed to send Steve back to his past doesn’t look like much. It’s small, really, about the size of a skipping rock that Bucky would have picked up and thrown back in Brooklyn on the beach. The only thing seemingly special about it is the fact that it’s glowing blue, bright enough to throw the hue off onto the small that it’s set on, surrounded by a dish that’s only about half an inch deep. 

Steve is cautious upon seeing it. Bucky has heard stories about what happened to the last man that tried to hold something similar, though he doubts the same harm will come to Steve considering this stuff was already inside of him. Steve still crosses his arms as he circles closer. “This is it? This is what’s going to send me back?”

If Shuri is insulted by his skepticism over the appearance of her work, she at least hides it when she speaks, nodding as she answers. “It is.”

“So I just…” Steve gestures, mimicking a poking movement towards the stone and turning guiltily when he heads Bucky take in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t gonna touch it yet,” he tells them all, though Bucky is the only one who needs to hear it. 

“It’s a good thing,” Shuri informs him. “I’ve been working with gloves on, but one touch of your skin to the stone, and,” she snaps. “You’ll be gone.” Steve turns a little greet at having to hear that said so frankly. Bucky is thankful when T’Challa and all his tact decide to step in and take some of the strain over. 

“We will not make you do this until you’re ready, Captain Rogers,” he promises him. Then, glancing at Bucky and back to the man before him, “As soon as you are. Not one second more.”

Bucky can’t stand seeing Steve spend the last few seconds he has left here without holding him one more time, for one more moment, one more chance to tell him that it’s going to all be _fine._ He steps to him so quickly that Shuri clicks her tongue at his proximity to the stone, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He’s not focused on that when he has one last chance to say goodbye. 

Steve isn’t crying this time, but his already sad smile does crumple a little when Bucky pulls him in for what this time really is their final hug. “Buck,” he breathes out, clinging to his neck the same way he’s done since they were kids. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Bucky laughs thickly and tugs on Steve’s cowlick. That’s another last time. “I’m supposed to be saying that to you, sunshine.” He pulls back and smooths a hand over the side of Steve’s face. He says it himself anyways. “It’s gonna be fine.” He tips their forehead together. “You’ll find me. I’ll find you.”

“Always do,” Steve whispers. “‘Til the end of the line.” And there’s a last time yet again, at least for now. “Remember the note, okay? And just- keep me in mind?” It’s his turn to laugh, just as thickly as Bucky had. “At least one of us has got to remember that damn goat’s name.”

Bucky smiles, and it’s teasy, but it’s real. All the things they’ve shared these past few days are. “You go give ‘em hell for me, Rogers.”

“I will, Buck,” Steve says. “It’s always for you.” There’s a finality in that statement that Bucky knows he’s not supposed to break. He doesn’t say anything more though there are a million thingns that come to mind. 

They share a last kiss that Bucky can see Shuri and T’Challa turn away from. He doesn’t think he’d care even if they were watching. What he shares with Steve is not something that brings him shame at any time, let alone a time like this. When they finally break away, it’s with an encouraging nod and a last clap on the cheek as Bucky steps back to let Steve have the center of the room to himself. 

He’s not by himself. Not like this. Bucky promised he’d stay by his side until the end, and he will. Even when Steve smiles one last time at him, tips his head, and reaches forward to touch his hand to the top of the stone. 

For a second, nothing happens, and Bucky’s heart _stops_. Then, just as Shuri said, there's a flash of light that fills the room, and when it’s finally dimmed- Steve is gone. 

Bucky’s heart doesn’t start back up. 

-

Bucky has felt lost more than a few times in his life. Before the Soldier. While the Soldier. After the brainwashing. During the war. He’s- like Steve said- not had an easy life either.

That doesn’t make it any easier to walk out of that laboratory door alone. 

He makes his way to his room with the drawing and sketchbook Steve gave him in hand as was asked, but he feels almost numb. There’s a sense of completed duty there as well, but… there’s loss. It’s hard to explain. He’s not alone at all when he steps back to see his surroundings, both physically and otherwise. He has friends here. With his memories back, he has a history. Even without Steve here, he has a home. And he still does have Steve. That’s not something that has changed. 

Like he said, it’s just hard to explain. 

When he gets down to the bedroom that he had held Steve in not twenty four hours before, he’s still trying to figure out exactly what words he’s supposed to use in order to get what just happened across to the Steve he can still talk to on the phone. He’ll be getting ready for bed now. Bucky needs to call him soon- he’d made it a promise, and Bucky Barnes is not a man who likes breaking one of those. 

When he kicks off his boots to settle on the bed, he glances to the nightstand and notices the tablet that stays down here in case he wants to call Steve while spending the night in the palace but forgets his phone. He has his phone with him now, but really… he thinks it’d be nice to see his boyfriend’s face. 

Steve picks up after a few long rings of the Skype call, but eventually answers, even if he does look sort of surprised. It’s not their usual call that for the tablet. He opens his mouth, looking like he’s going to ask why Bucky’s breaking their usual protocol, but Bucky can track the exact moment Steve must be able to read what’s written across his face. He shuts his mouth and waits a full three seconds before opening it once more. 

“Hi, Buck,” he says softly, shifting up in whatever bed that he’s laying in to switch on a light that only illuminates on Bucky’s end the sight of a blank wall. “Is everything… are you alright?”

Bucky sighs and tries to smile, but despite it only being one in the afternoon, he already feels tired. “I’m doing okay,” he eventually answers. “It’s been a tough morning.” Steve doesn’t have to ask why, and Bucky doesn’t give him the chance to. “T’Challa and Shuri helped send him back a little while ago. We only found out they were going to do it last night, so… it’s just been…” He trails off and has to swallow before he speaks again. “I’ll be honest, honey, it’s been a lot.” He doesn’t try and hide how he’s feeling. Why should he? These are things Steve probably felt once himself.

“Oh,” Steve gets out, quiet and a little surprised. It makes Bucky feel a bit better hearing that he’d been putting off thinking about this too. They’d all known this was what had to happen, but _knowing_ and _experiencing_ are two very different different things to have to move between so soon. “Are you okay?”

That’s a question Bucky might internall scoff at coming from anyone but Steve, but it _does_ come from Steve, and that’s how he knows it’s meant genuinely. He has to take a second to think over what he wants to say as his response. “I will be,” he settles on. “It’s just going to take some getting used to, you know?”

Steve huffs. He definitely knows. He’d had to see Bucky come back to life and then almost kill him at least twice. He’s had plenty of experience with the _getting used to_ process himself. “I think I have some idea.” They’re both quiet for a moment before he offers up another tidbit to the conversation, Bucky now looking away from the screen in favor of tipping his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “It’s been a weird fucking week.”

Bucky laughs, even if it’s half hearted. “Language, Captain.”

Steve groans, over the top and too whiny to be seen as threatening as he probably intends it. Really, he probably intends the dramatics to be a distraction. Bucky appreciates it more than he can say. “I’m not a Captain anymore, Buck. Fuck off.”

“I’ll fuck something, alright,” Bucky tells him, but his usually filthy joking falls a bit flat as he spots the sketchbook beside him and remembers what he’s supposed to do. He pauses and picks it up out of frame where Steve can’t see, studying the cover. “You think that you would have wanted to talk to him if you had gotten the chance?” It’s weird, referring to him in the past tense, though that’s always been where he’s from.

Steve’s answer comes out surprisingly blunt. “No, not really.” Then, at Bucky’s raised eyebrows, he backtracks with a flustered look. “I mean, I’m a _little_ sad I didn’t, but- I don’t think _he_ would have wanted that. It would have been like… looking at the better option he already felt like you were wanting to have there instead of him.” Steve gets suddenly soft as he speaks, and Bucky’s listening has to turn intent. It must be tough having to explain how two people feel when both of them are technically yourself. “Why put myself through that?”

Bucky blinks. He hadn’t actually thought of it like that. The Steve he’d had with him for the last few days may have been low down, but he wasn’t _lesser._ He was a little younger and more closed off, but he wasn’t a second choice. It pains Bucky to even think of him feeling that way. “Well,” Bucky says after a moment, still fiddling with the sketchbook’s cover where Steve can’t see his free hand, “He didn’t seem like he was too keen on talking to you, but he did ask me to read you something.”

Steve frowns and leans a little closer to his screen, like that’ll help him see more. _Moron._ “What is it?”

“I think it’s a note.” Bucky finally cracks the sketchbook open just to see that he’s remembering right, there it is- Steve’s swoopy scrawl on one of the pages in the very back, right where Steve had left the ripped edges of Bucky’s drawing on the page behind. Bucky only reads the top line for now. The note doesn’t look to be very long, but it begins with Steve’s name almost like it’s a letter. “Do you want me to go ahead and…?” He trails off in silent askance. 

Steve’s answer is almost immediate. “Sure, Buck.” He looks interested, and if Bucky is reading his expression right, a little apprehensive about what his past self is going to have to say. “But don’t be surprised if I wrote something stupid,” he tries to joke. Bucky’s not sure if the attempt at lightening the mood is for his benefit or Steve’s own. 

More than likely, it’s both. “Okay,” Bucky murmurs, setting the tablet to lean against his bent up thighs so Steve can still see his face even as he holds the sketchbook out to the side and begins to read with a clear of his throat that strangely reminds him of reading bedtime stories to his sisters. “ _Steve,”_ he starts off with. “ _It feels really weird to be addressing myself, but to be honest, by now I should probably start expecting the world to be a lot weirder than I already thought it was. Waking up from the ice has only proven that point to me, but I’m pretty sure that’s something that you already know. And that’s what’s weird about this situation, isn’t it? You already_ know _what’s in my head because you've already had it in yours.”_

Bucky has to clear his throat again to continue reading, but his words still catch before coming out when he gets to some of what Steve has to say next. 

“ _That includes the good and the bad, which means you must know how much it hurts having to miss Bucky like this too. You know what it’s like to love him and you know what it’s like to lose him. I never thought anyone else alive would be able to share that with me, but then again, I never expected to be alive at this point at all.”_

Bucky takes a break from reading and looks at the tablet to see how Steve in the present moment is handling hearing this. Bucky isn’t sure how he’s handling it _himself_ knowing that the kid who wrote this isn’t one he’s ever going to be able to have in the same way again. Those memories are his alone now. The Steve here with him now is staring off to the side of his screen with an unreadable expression, but upon the sound of Bucky’s voice stopping, he looks back at him with a small smile that’s more melancholy than it is sad. 

“It’s okay, Buck,” he says quietly. “You can go on.” And with a deep breath, Bucky does, toes curling in his socks when he picks back up talking where the sight of them are blocked by the angle of his own screen. 

_“I don’t really know why I’m writing you this,_ ” he continues. _“Closure, I guess. And I figure that if I’m not allowed to remember all this, I might as well try and tell you what things these last few days have taught me. Starting with the obvious: Bucky is telling the truth when he says he’ll love you through anything- even time travel and portals and all your worst problems being very literally dropped on his lap. Secondly-“_

Bucky falters enough to have to halt this time, but he tries to recover best he can without Steve having to interrupt. 

_“Secondly, Bucky won’t say this, so I will. He misses you when you’re away. He wishes you would come home, and sometimes, he wishes you would stay. I was only here three days, and he treated me that way- I can only imagine he wishes he could treat you. He wouldn’t tell me much about where you are, but I know you about as well as I know myself, so I know that wherever you are… you’re running. You might be in better shape than I am, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes you shouldn’t take the time to stop.”_

There’s a long gap of silence that sits between them before Bucky gets to the last part of the note. Neither of them say anything until he picks it back up. 

_“He’s not better off without you just like you’re not better off without him, and hurting yourself doesn’t help him heal. Kicking yourself out of the house doesn’t make it his home. You should know that, but some things are hard to hear. Some things are even harder to listen to, but we’ve always been stubborn, so how about you try and listen to yourself? I’m always with you in a way, which might sound weird, but it’s true. You’re me, and I’m you, and all that jazz. If you take anything from this… maybe you’ll find some sense that you lost from your youth. But maybe not. When Bucky says we’re bad at letting ourselves be taken care of, he’s definitely telling the truth. He always does. Just… make sure you try and do the same.”_

Bucky thinks he’s reached the end of the note until he spots one more sentence scribbled at the bottom like an afterthought, or as he comes to find, a joke. 

_“P.S: tell Bucky that he’s a pain in the ass. And also tell him that he better not rename that damn goat. Signed yours, Steve.”_

There’s an even longer silence this time, one that Bucky spends shutting the sketchbook and setting it to the side so he can take a good look at Steve's expression on the screen and gauge what he should do based off of his face. He doubts Steve needs space like this. He knows that he doesn’t- all this has made him want to do is hold on even tighter to his boyfriend the next time that he’s actually able to be here. 

What Steve chooses to say first seems stupid, but Bucky thinks that’s sort of the point. “You named the goats without me?” He doesn’t sound actually hurt, thank god. 

Bucky just laughs and tucks his hair back behind his ears while he tries to explain. “Only one. The littlest. The, ah- the other guy refused to let me call it Stevie. Made me go with _Roger_ instead.”

“What’s wrong with Roger?” Steve defends, and it sounds so damn similar to that same kid Bucky first heard it from yesterday that his heart aches. They’ve both changed so much, but some things have been proven to stay the same. 

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Bucky sighs, wishing he could trace Steve’s face through more than just the glass of a screen. He can feel his expression turn soft. “It’s a fine name.”

Steve is back to laying down now wherever he is in bed, head now sideways on screen. He yawns, but his words come out semi-seriously with what he says next. “That note…” He gets quiet, but then smiles as well. “Guess I was pretty sneaky evem back then, huh?”

Humming, Bucky lays back a little more comfortably himself. He’s heard both the latest and greatest of Steve’s forays into sneaking around from Sam and Nat, not to mention having been on the receiving end for some of them. “I guess so.” He’d had no idea what to expect that note to be about, but that was generally not it. It was more insightful than Bucky anticipated, but then again, looking amnesia in the eye can spur some self scrutiny. He knows from experience. 

Steve doesn’t seem all that surprised, though. He looks contemplative more than he does caught off guard. “I guess maybe wisdom doesn’t always come with age.” He’s pursing his lips and pushing on before Bucky can be bothered to remind him he’s barely in his thirties. “I don’t want you to think I didn’t listen to all that, but… this kinda goes along those same lines. I was just sort of hoping to save it for a surprise.”

Bucky’s interest is piqued now, a welcome distraction from the events previous to the call. He doesn’t want to forget, but.. he’d like something to look forward to right now. “Save what as a surprise?” he asks, rolling his eyes when he sees Steve trying to silently debate with himself on whether or not to tell him. “ _Steven._ Out with it.”

The blonde makes a face at the use of his given name and the order, scruff stretching out on top of the skin surrounding where his mouth has pushed into a pout. “Well, maybe if you’d bothered to ask where I am before all this, you could figure it out.”

Bucky almost never asks him that question because he’s not sure he should know the answer, but Steve is obviously hinting at him asking about it now, so for once, he does. “Where are you, then, smart mouth?” he teases, but he tracks Steve’s expression with a watchful eye. 

Steve doesn’t answer directly, though he does give Bucky a hint that very much helps. “If you must know,” he says, sarcasm dying down when Bucky shoots him a look. “I can’t really tell you _exactly_ where I am, but I am definitely not on the ground.” He sounds pleased as punch with himself, a tone that transfers over to his face when he smiles so hard at Bucky’s expression the apples of his cheeks turn pink. 

There’s only one place Steve could be in if he isn’t on the ground- and only one place he could be _going_ to in it. He’s on the Quinjet, most likely in one of the back bunks that barely see use when he isn’t on his way to Wakanda. 

“What?” Bucky breathes, sitting up straighter and taking the tablet with him to brace on the tops of his knees so that Steve can better see the shock on his face. “When? _How?”_ He rakes his hand back through his hair before he even gives the other man a proper chance to answer, too preoccupied with the fact that this news has been delivered at all. Steve is on his way here. As a _surprise._ With how Bucky feels, he’d say it did the job. “You’re on your way?” he asks again, just to make sure he didn’t misunderstand. 

Steve laughs, still pink cheeked and proud of himself. It’s a good look on him. Bucky doesn’t call him pretty baby half the time in private for nothing. “Yeah, Buck. I’m coming home.” He sounds happy, and then a bit hesitant. “I almost thought I was gonna have to hide out the whole week in the palace so your guest wouldn’t freak out, but I guess fate has a weird way of working this stuff out.” Then, as that’s still sinking in, his voice gets shy. “You gonna remind me of all that stuff I talked to you about yesterday on the phone when I get there?”

Bucky feels like his heart is in his throat. He knows exactly what conversation Steve is talking about, but he also has a lot of other things he wants to say, a lot of other things he feels the need to remind him are _true,_ including how much he loves him. He also wants to tell him about what happened when the other _him_ was here. He wants to ask him to stay, and oddly enough, he has a strange feeling that this time, he might even say yes for at least a little longer. 

He doesn’t ask for now, but he does nod and give Steve the softest smile that the screen can get across, metal fingers curling to hold the tablet closer so the flesh ones can ghost across the pixelated depiction of the face Bucky is going to get to see in person very soon. “I’m gonna make sure you never forget any of it,” he promises, praying to every higher power he can think of that this is another promise he’ll be able to keep. “All you gotta do is find your way home, honey. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You always do, Buck,” Steve says sleepily, and this is something they both know to always be true. Whether Steve is sixteen or twenty seven, eighteen or almost thirty two- Bucky has his back. Whether he’s skinny or tall, feeling weak or forced to be strong- Bucky will hold him through it. Whether they’re back in Brooklyn or on Wakandan soul- Bucky will help him build a home. 

And finally, whether Bucky remembers or Steve forgets- time, body, or place, he’s loved him through it all. He’ll love him if again if need be. He’ll love him always.

Bucky kisses his fingers and brings them down to brush against the screen where Steve can see but can’t feel the touch. That doesn’t matter. He’ll be able to feel everything soon. “I can’t wait for you to get here,” he murmurs. “But you should get some sleep before you do, yeah?” His eyes soften right as Steve’s slip shut, nodding in agreement. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

Steve yawns into his farewell, faint and sleepy. “I love you too.” It’s not much of a send off, but it’s good enough. It’s even better because it’s not a goodbye 

When Bucky hangs up, this time he feels a little less alone, especially when he looks at the wall and sees Steve’s painting hanging by the bed, then down at the mattress to see the one that he’s going to hang below. They’re two very different images from two variations of the same man Bucky adores.

Having Steve here won’t make having to say goodbye to the other one hurt any less, but this was the point of him letting go, wasn’t it? He had to leave so he could also come home. Had to say goodbye so he could then say hello. 

There was a time once where Steve was a kindness when Bucky was nothing but a stranger. Bucky now knows what it’s like to be the same. Looking at the wall and holding the drawing up to it, Bucky understands what he thinks he should have known this entire time. Steve may have left. 

But he’ll never really be gone as long as Bucky’s heart offers him a home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! i might write something about this one day from nomad steve’s pov but no promises! just something i will daydream about some more. 
> 
> as usual, thank you for reading, Please leave me feedback, i hope you enjoyed, and i’m sorry if i made you cry as much as steve did. stay safe! i will see you next time.

**Author's Note:**

> “happy reading!” the author says as they try to insert all the angst they can. 
> 
> in any case, feel free to cry or yell in the comments. i like that. i like nice feedback even more.


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